The Lords that Fell
by Love Missile
Summary: Tells the story of the rise and fall of the two dark lords, from the collapse of the fortress in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, to the collapse of Barad-dûr, and what came next. Mainly told from Melkor and Sauron's perspective. Continuation of my other fic: "The Burnt God", though it may be read separately. Occasional slash.
1. The King in the Tower of Wolves

**This story is a continuation of my other fic, "The Burnt God", and it 's better to read it after that. However, for those of you that haven't read it, I explain some references to the previous fic in notes at the end.  
There's slash in this first chapter, but this won't be exactly a slash fic. In next ones it will be rather secondary.  
As for chronology of events (i.e. Melkor's battle with Fingolfin after the conquest of Minas Tirith), I'm following the one from the Grey Annals, instead of the one in the Silmarillion.**

**Warning: This chapter is dark. It features non-con and death.**  
**Having said that, read and enjoy, and review! :)  
**

**The King in the Tower of Wolves**

_In Wizard's Isle still lay forgot,  
enmeshed and tortured in that grot  
cold, evil, doorless, without light,  
and blank-eyed stared at endless night  
two comrades. Now alone they were.  
The others lived no more, but bare  
their broken bones would lie and tell  
how ten had served their master well  
_  
-The Lay of Leithian: Canto IX.

In the fortress built on the island of the river Sirion, now called the Isle of Werewolves, the howling of the wolves had become still for a moment.  
Sauron knew what that meant: the beasts were feasting on another of the, at first, twelve prisoners who had been captured recently. That band of outlaws had been a little entertainment during the last few days, and certainly the subjects that formed it were not at all conventional. Eleven Elves and a man with tormented visage, all disguised as Orcs. One didn't find such a thing in the forest on a daily basis.  
Sauron reached across the huge table covered with maps and plans, where he used to work every time he retreated into his turret, and took a list of names from among the papers. Upon crossing out the name of the latest victim, he realized that only two prisoners remained still: the man and the Elf who, he suspected, headed the mission. All the others had preferred to die rather than betraying their lord.

"Very noble for their part. And very coward for the part of their lord, who would see them turn into carrion for wolves, rather than telling the truth once and for all." -he thought, with a smirk of scorn.

Anyway, the underlings didn't matter. The next to die would be that disheveled human, with whom the Elven lord seemed to maintain a close relationship. And if, even upon seeing the death of his friend, protegé, lover or whatever he was, he still didn't budge an inch, then he would make him talk through more sophisticated and persuasive methods.  
Sauron took the plan of a new information-gathering machine on which he was working, but he quickly put it aside with a sigh.  
The truth was that he got bored.  
He had been bored for the past ten years that he had spent in that tower. Yes, of course it was nice to be the absolute master of the river Sirion, and have all the fortress at his disposal, and a good garrison of werewolves to terrorize the surrounding areas. But without Melkor by his side it was boring and dull.  
He had not seen his master since the battle that broke the siege of Angband, the battle that Elves called "of Sudden Flame". Of course, it had been finally the fire dragons who had put a remedy to the plight and had destroyed the camp of the Noldor. The original idea had been of Glaurung, however, so he couldn't boast about the success too much either.  
This was followed by the assault and capture of the fortress of Minas Tirith, that had been postponed for too many years already. The horrified face of Orodreth when Sauron stood in front of him and took again the maiden shape with which he had seduced him, was one of the fondest memories of the lieutenant.

"Dost thou want to kiss me now?" –he had asked mockingly, and the stupid Elf had become so stunned, that he barely managed to escape alive from the skirmish.

He hadn't been the lord of the isle for too long, when he received news about a duel in which Melkor himself had confronted Fingolfin.  
At first it seemed very strange to him that his master had agreed to such a thing, since the Vala wasn't fond of hand to hand combats, and no doubt he had only done it reluctantly and out of shame. The official emissaries informed him of a glorious and overwhelming victory of his master over the insolent king of the Noldor. But he had also heard rumours among the messenger crows, whispered rumours, that spoke of the serious wounds and injuries that the battle had left in the body of Melkor.  
Sauron had worried then, and had wanted to return to Angband, but the opportunity never arose. And the Vala didn't want to receive him in the fortress either. Every time he sent messages asking to see him, his lord gave him excuses and told him to take care of the fortress for the time being and that he would see him in the future.  
All this only served to increase his anxiety.  
Not even through his human servant, who had remained in Angband following Melkor's orders, and occasionally visited the tower, he could find out what had exactly happened. The man had seemed very nervous when adressing the subject, and Sauron suspected that he was afraid that, somehow, Melkor discovered that he had spoken too much.  
He wasn't sure if they were treating his Shadow properly during his absence. It was true that he was always reluctant to return to Angband, and remained in the tower more time than was strictly necessary. But if they had ever tormented him, his servant never told him.  
Apart from that, the years in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, were years of tedium. There was little movement in the realms of the Noldor, and Sauron's main concern at that time was to locate two men named Húrin and Huor, who, according to spies, knew the entrance to a secret city of the Elves. But no matter how many troops deployed the lieutenant over every corner of Beleriand, and no matter how much he examined the maps in search of some unexplored place, the two elusive humans escaped him again and again.  
Perhaps the prisoners that he had in the dungeons right now knew about this hidden realm. And if he, at least, found out something, he would have an excuse to turn up in Angband and see Melkor once more.

Melkor ... He had been ten years separated from Melkor. For some reason, since he had intimated with him, his absence seemed unbearable. It was as if suddenly, something that he had never before needed, the physical contact, had become essential to live.  
Sauron closed his eyes and recreated in his mind the last encounter of that kind that he had with his lord.  
Just after the Battle of Sudden Flame, Melkor had called him to the throne room to speak with him alone. The lieutenant smelled of sulfur, and of scorched flesh, and of Elven blood, and the Vala's eyes had gleamed with unmistakable lust. Then Sauron, still aroused by the ardour of the battle and the taste of victory, had seized him with abrupt passion, had turned him to face the wall, had lifted his robe, and had taken him on the spot, with the same violence with which he had taken the enemy camp. And Melkor had screamed with pleasure, and the lieutenant had felt his desire: burning, desperate, sincere.  
How he loved him then! And how submissively had surrendered the Vala to him! With that complete and unapologetic submission, with which only surrender those who know they're infinitely superior.  
Still with his eyes closed, Sauron licked his fangs, indulging in those delicious images, and smiled at the memory of how, after the encounter, Melkor had chosen not to sit on the throne for a few days, and had got angered with anyone who dared to ask for the reason of this.  
Why couldn't he be in Angband with his lord now? He missed his skin, his flesh, his smell, his half-whispered words...  
And it was Melkor's fault, for turning him into a slave to base passions. He wasn't like that before, he didn't waste his time with such trivialities before.  
And now he wasn't just tormented by desire, but on top of that, he also had no way to satisfy it with anyone. In the tower there were only Orcs, werewolves or even worse creatures, and none of them seemed an acceptable partner to him.

Once again, the lieutenant felt an annoying heat and a familiar strain between his legs at the thought of his master. But after all, he was alone in the turret and had nothing to do.  
Thus, with a resigned sigh, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand under the fabric.  
Just in that moment the door to the turret opened wide, and the vampire Thuringwethil burst in stumbling. Sauron started and immediately removed his hand from where he had it.  
Thuringwethil was drunk with blood as usual, and approached him with uncertain steps, but not before pouring a few drops of the red fluid of her glass on the luxurious carpet, brought by Orodreth from Valinor.  
There were few beings in Arda that irritated the lieutenant as much as Thuringwethil the vampire. When she wasn't fighting with quarrelsome Orcs or gossiping and spreading false rumours, she was stuffing herself with the blood of others until losing consciousness. And in this aspect she wasn't prejudiced when drinking: she didn't care whether she bit the neck of an Orc, a horse, a werewolf or an Elf. If he wasn't his superior, Sauron was sure that she would try to bite him as well.

"Cursed be the day that I happened to use her name!" –regreted the Maia.

And fixing his eye of fire on the creature, with obvious hatred, he wished he could make her go up in flames with his stare.

-Sir, Sauron, sir. I just saw something very curious. -proclaimed the vampire with her shrill voice, as she leaned on the maps and drawings with not much ceremony.

-If thou hadst entered just a few minutes later, I assure thee that thou wouldst have seen something even more curious. -muttered the lieutenant under his breath, without averting his murderous eyes from her.

-About that I know nothing, sir, but listen. I was flying over the North of the Brethil forest, when I saw a shadow running at high speed. It was getting dark, so I've descended a little to see who it was. And dost thou know who it was? Guess it, sir.

Sauron snorted in disgust. The last thing he was thinking about then was playing riddles.

-How should I know? Oromë riding under the moonlight as in the old days?

-No, sir, not that. -obviously, the vampire had not caught the sarcasm. – It was... Attention, sir: it was a maiden, a maiden riding a huge dog! And she was wrapped in a very strange cloak, very dark, blacker than night itself, as black as that spider that almost ate the master Melkor ... What was her name? Unog... Unga ...

-Stick to the subject, wilst thou?! -Thuringwethil was startled, and dropped some blood on the lieutenant's papers.

-Yes, Sauron sir, yes. As I said, she was wrapped in a cloak of darkness. It seemed like a good catch to me, so I swooped to attack her. But one end of her cloak touched my eyes, and then I felt an overwhelming drowsiness and fell asleep instantly.

-That would be because thou hadst drunk too much, as always.

-No, lord Sauron, no! I promise thee that...

-Silence! I cannot believe that thou hadst bothered me just to tell me that stupidity. What do I care about maidens who go for a walk with their dogs? Come back when thou seest the host of the Valar blowing the trumpets of the last day! –growled the Maia, trying to clean the stained maps, without much success. Thereafter, the Blue Mountains would no longer be blue, but red.

-But my lord Sauron, shouldn't we send a patrol of scouts? The maiden seemed to ride towards here.

-Well, then if she appears in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, I'll lock her with the other prisoners and the wolves will have a more tender flesh to enjoy. That's it.

Thuringwethil frowned, and leaned a little more over the lieutenant.

-Why art thou so upset, sir? I don't think that bringing thee this information is so annoying. After all, what wert thou doing?

Sauron turned to her slowly, barely containing the urge to grab her by the neck and throw her out the window, so she made a late night flight.

-Look Thuringwethil, I'm going to be very direct and blunt, because I suspect that will be the quickest way for thee to leave me alone: Before thou enteredst in my turret like a whirlwind to tell me about thy ridiculous maidens and dogs, I was trying to give me pleasure. I'm not sure if thou understandst...

The vampire made a gesture of indifference with one of her membranous wings.

-Yes, of course I understand. I spend much time surrounded by Orcs and see the things they do; I know what _that_ means.

But even so, the intruder stood there, impassive, calmly sipping plasma from her glass. Sauron raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

-I think I was too subtle before. What I want is that thou clearst off! -he roared, and Thuringwethil almost dropped the whole drink out of fright.

-All right, sir, I'll leave if thou needst to concentrate so much to do something so simple. But I don't understand why thou preferst to touch thyself, when thou hast in the dungeons two prisoners at thy complete disposal.

-The prisoners? They are inferior beings! Maybe an eyesore like thee is willing to stoop to that level, but I have dignity!

-Oh, lord Sauron! But the Elf is quite beautiful, isn't he? And didn't take the Valar and Maiar their appearances on the basis of the looks of the children of Eru? -Thuringwethil winked at him with malice, and put one of her nauseating wings around the lieutenant's shoulders, as if to speak with him in confidence.- I know that they can't be compared with the master Melkor, but after all, the master is not here and they are. That is a point in their favour, isn't it? And thou wilst not believe that Melkor had no other bed partners during these ten years that thou hast been away from him, right?

The idea fell over Sauron like a bucket of cold water. Until then that possibility hadn't crossed his mind, not even for a second, but now that it had, he felt a sensation of terrible discomfort and pain in his chest.  
In vain he tried to convince himself that jealousy was a ridiculous feeling, typical of women, and that Melkor was a Vala and had the right to be completely free in his decisions. Nonetheless, he felt jealous. Melkor had the power to make him feel jealous, him, Sauron, the lieutenant of Angband, the coldest and most rational of all the Ainur! ...  
How he hated him for it then!

-What may do or not do my lord Melkor with his body is not my concern. -replied the lieutenant with hurt pride.

The blackish teeth of the vampire were discovered in a wicked smile beside his face. Her breath reeked of coagulated blood and meat scraps.

-What thou dost with thy body isn't the concern of the lord Melkor either. I just tell thee for thy own sake, nothing more. Other than that, my lord ... Sometimes one can obtain more information in the bed than in the torture chamber. Think about it.

With that said, the vampire got up and left the turret swaying and humming an obscene song under her breath. The lieutenant was left staring blankly at the void, in front of the plans but without seeing the plans, torn between reason, desire and heartbreak.  
Night had fallen outside, and the wolves howled again.

At about midnight, the door of the dungeon opened, and a figure with cape and riding boots was cut in the doorway. The two prisoners slept huddled in a corner, shivering with cold and tightly embraced. It was a fraternal embrace, the embrace of the soldier and his comrade who know they will die the next morning an uncertain death, and thus extend their farewell during the whole night.  
Sauron told the Orcs that accompanied him to separate the Elf without waking the man, and to bring him to his presence.  
The creature was beautiful, with hair between blond and silvery, and eyes the colour of aquamarine . But he was gaunt, haggard, dirty and disheveled.  
The man, though also attractive, looked even worse.  
Sauron drove the Elf outside the cell and brought him into the refined bathroom that had belonged to Orodreth. He signaled the bathtub and ordered him to spruce, to wash himself thoroughly and to comb his hair. From a closet in the bedroom he brought a embroidered silk tunic that had also belonged to the former lord of the tower, and left it folded on a stool, so that after bathing, the Elf got dressed with it and dismissed the foul-smelling rags with which he was covered.  
After that Sauron left the bathroom to let him privacy, and put two sentinels at the door in case the prisoner still harboured hopes of escaping.

An hour later the Elf appeared in the main dining room, where the lieutenant was already waiting for him at the table. It was amazing how a simple bath and change of dress had transformed the prison rat into a dignified lord.  
Sauron recognized at once the nobility and demeanor of the Noldor in his figure. However, the Elf looked confused and frightened by the strange circumstances. The table was covered with viands served on porcelain plates, and the crystal goblets, adorned with gold and silver filigree, were full of sweet wine.

-Sit down. I've been waiting for thee. -said the Maia with a smile of charming evil, and moved backwards the chair at the left of the head, where he sat.  
The Elf sat down reluctantly and looked at the freshly prepared food, the closest to a real meal that he had seen in a long time. In fact, it had a quite nice appearance and smell.

-Help thyself, thou mustest be hungry. The Orcs can be good cooks if one hits them enough to convince them to be so. Usually I don't eat much, as thou seest. It's not something I'm used to. –continued Sauron, taking one of the wineglasses to his lips.

The Elf hesitated for a second, but soon realized that the lieutenant wasn't going to take so much trouble to poison him when he could kill him at any time more quickly. He then served himself with a piece of roast venison.

-Forgive me, sir, if I ask thee for the reason of all this courtesy towards me.

-Oh, my dear nameless Elf! All in good time. For now, let's say that I'm feeling generous tonight and have more desire of favours than of torments.

-Favours for me or favours for thee? –asked the Elf, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

The Maia extended his arm across the table and stroked the back of his guest's hand. The coldness of his touch, and the dim gleam of his right eye, caused him a shiver.

-Favours for both of us. Thou givest me something and I give thee something. Although I think that, in comparison, thou wilt stand to gain. A night of respite before returning to thy cell and to the darkness. Thou shouldst feel fortunate.

The Elf had trouble swallowing the piece of meat in his mouth, and felt relieved when the hand of the lieutenant moved away from his.  
Sauron let him dine in peace, merely observing him in silence as he drank his wine and licked his lips from time to time. Under the light of the candles, the Elf's face seemed even paler and sadder, but behind that facade of delicate shyness still could be guessed the strength and determination that had once characterized him.  
The Elf ate less than what would have been expected, and barely tasted the wine.

-That tunic really suits thee well. It almost seems as if it was made for thee. –said the lieutenant casually, while the guest finished his dinner. The Elf looked up with an expression of surprise and astonishment, and the Maia laughed:- But of course thou art very beautiful, it's just natural that anything suits thee well. Thou art a Noldo, no doubt. The Wood-elves could never have such a grace. However, the colour of thy hair ... Thou hast blood from the Vanyar, or perhaps from the Sindar, am I right?

-I do not want to discuss my origins now, please lord Sauron. -he muttered, looking down.

-It's true, where are my manners? This is not an interrogation, but a relaxed evening. Nonetheless, I suppose we could talk about subjects more intimate, or sentimental, dost thou think not? Tell me Elf, art thou married?

-No, I'm not. I left my fiancée in Eldamar before coming to Middle Earth, and I could never marry her. -he confessed, his voice breaking.

-Such a pity. Then I guess thou wilt have many lovers, right? Young maidens. Young boys, maybe?

The Elf blushed and shook his head, not daring to look at his interlocutor.

-No. I never had any lover.

-What a shame! -exclaimed the lieutenant with false compassion.- Am I to assume then that thou hast not shared a bed with anyone since the journey of the Noldor? How long ago was that, five hundred years? That's a long time even for an Elda. It's quite sad that so far thou hast only known the favours of thy fiancée.

For Sauron, that idea made the Elf seem even more desirable, and he licked his fang suggestively. But the embarrassed blush of the Elf turned into a blush of indignation upon hearing this.

-What favours art thou talking about? My fiancée was a decent lady, I'd never had dishonoured her that way! I told thee already that we weren't married.

Sauron smiled with effrontery.

-I don't know what has to do marriage with honour and pleasure. Frankly, the laws of the Eldar seem indecipherable for me. But it's a waste that nobody has touched thee so far. A being so beautiful should not wither without having enjoyed himself at least once. However, thou art very lucky, Elf: tonight thou wilt finally know those pleasures, and thou wilt do it through a Maia, of the holy race of the Ainur. Dost thou not feel flattered?

The Elf was paralyzed then, and his aquamarine eyes opened wide in disbelief and horror. An icy stream run down his spine, and he shrunk in his seat shivering.

-Thou and I? No, please ... I ... I ... I thank thee, sir, but I can't. It's not right, we shouldn't...

-Why not? Because I'm the lieutenant of Angband, at the service of the Dark Lord? Thou hast accepted my food and kindness without hesitation, why wouldst thou not want to accept as well the pleasure I can give thee? -Sauron caressed his neck and felt every muscle of the Elf tensing under his fingers.- Or is it because we are of different races, that's what scares thee? Don't worry, there's nothing in the laws of Eru that prevents the Ainur from mating with the Firstborn. Remember Melian and Thingol.

-That's different. Melian and Thingol love and respect each other.

Sauron laughed.

-They love each other? Poor creature! I know Melian very well, I knew her from the beginning of time, in Valinor. She's a fickle and manipulative being, like all females. She bewitched the king of the Sindar with sorcery, she subdued him and pulled him away from his people and his family. And all because she took a fancy to his beauty, because she wanted to satisfy her lust with an inferior being that she could easily master, even if from the background. Does that seem as love to thee? To me it seems more like an abduction. Ye are nothing but toys for the gods. But at least I'm honest about it, and I can treat my toys very well when I decide so...

The Elf tried to escape the touch of frost that slid across his neck's skin, but he was unsuccessful.

-What thou sayst is not true. And I would like that thou didst not slander king Thingol and his queen that way.

-Why not, perhaps thou knowest them? Are they friends of thine? Maybe ... _distant relatives_?

The Elf did not answer that, and stayed inhibited and resigned under the caresses.

-Thou hast barely drunk wine, and that's not right. Although I recognize that the wine for dinner wasn't too good. –continued Sauron, changing the subject. And rising from the table, he went to the walnut cabinet where they kept the bottles. He took two of them, along with two goblets encrusted with gems, which he placed on the table in front of his chair.- This wine is much stronger, and it will raise thy spirits for later. –he said while he poured the contents of each bottle in each goblet.

One of the glasses showed the emblem of two snakes with emerald eyes, and in this he served the fragrant wine from the first bottle. The other glass was decorated with a lion of rubies, and this, to the horror of the Elf, he filled with the black blood that flowed from the second bottle.

-I want thee to choose one of the glasses and drink it whole. Do me that favour, as the guest thou art. If not, thou wilt offend me. Well, what glass dost thou prefer?

The Elf signaled the glass of wine, frightened, but the lieutenant pretended not to understand and pushed towards him the glass filled with reeking blood.

-No, not that, please. The other.

-Which other?

-The one that contains the wine.

-Both contain wine, my dear friend.

-I mean the glass with the snakes.

-Ah! The glass with the snakes ... -the Maia brought him the correct goblet, and the candle flames danced in his eye of fire creating an unsettling effect. The Elf had no choice but to drink the whole glass before the watchful stare of his captor. – Dost thou know? I have the impression of having already dined at this same table with thee. And if not with thee, at least with someone who looked a lot like thee. -the trembling of the Elf's hand as he drained the wine didn't escape the attention of Sauron. Then the lieutenant looked at his own glass and feigned disgust:- Humm! I think I made a mistake. This is not wine, but the filthy blood of Thuringwethil. Well, no more drinking for me. This happens for letting thee choose, I'm too courteus. And by the way, how didst thou know that the glass had the emblem of a snake? I'm convinced that the figures have been looking towards me all the time. Tell me, hast thou been in this tower before?

The emerald glass resounded with a clang when the Elf dropped it on the cutlery. He had turned pale, and his lower lip trembled.

-I... I do not ...

-Yes, and there's another very curious thing too. Those emerald snakes closely resemble the emblem of the ring that thy human companion wears. Maybe thou gavest it to him, isn't it, my dear friend?

The smile of the lieutenant, glimmering in the half light, caused him more terror because of its evil kindness. In that moment, the Elf tried to leave the table. But Sauron quickly moved his chair closer and held him in place, while he put his arms around his waist and began to kiss his neck lasciviously.

-What art thou afraid of, huh? I'm not going to hurt thee, so stop resisting my advances. Dying a virgin is nothing honourable, and trust me: thou wilt die in this tower. Thou wilt not see thy beloved lady again. Never. So why refuse to pleasure? I just ask thee to keep me company tonight. The full moon makes my blood boil, and I feel very lonely, very aroused. Give me what I want and I'll do thee anything thou askest me, I, a Maia, will let thee do with me as thou pleasest. I'm a fair and generous lover. -and as he whispered this in his ear, he moved his hand up the prisoner's thigh and began to stroke him between the legs.

The Elf struggled, seized by panic and humiliation, but his strength was useless against the Ainu.

-Please, lord Sauron. I never asked for this privilege. Let me go, bring me back to my cell, where I'll willingly face my destiny, even if it should be death. I'm not of any use for this.

-Yes, yes thou art! -sighed the lieutenant, and grabbing the Elf's hand, he placed it on his own crotch and forced him to stroke him as well.

The strain he felt was getting too intense, and the animal instinct was starting to blur his reason already.  
Unable to endure it one more second, he took the Elf in his arms and brought him to the main bedroom of the tower. There he threw him on the bed and opened his tunic with a sudden tug. The golden hair of his pubis glinted under the light of the oil lamps, and the Maia lay down on him and began to cover him with kisses and slight bites, desperately furious.

-Ten years, Melkor, ten years. Why didst thou leave me alone? -he muttered, before turning all his attentions to the member of the Elf.

It was comforting: that feeling of giving pleasure to someone again, and see him squirm and hear him moan. It made him feel alive.  
However, he soon realized that the Elf rather squirmed in agony than in ecstasy, and that his moans were more like sobs.  
Frustrated, Sauron tried other techniques with him, but nothing seemed to work, and finally he gave up.

-Damned frigid Elf! What's the problem with thee? If I wanted to see thee crying, I would have put thee in the torture chamber, not in my bed. This doesn't satisfy me, and I don't understand how thou canst not enjoy thyself with all these things I'm doing. My lord Melkor is a Vala and he becomes literally crazy when I make him love. Dost thou think thou art better than him?

The Elf had his face hidden in the crook of his elbow to hide the tears, and had contracted his legs in shame.

-Dost thou ... Dost thou do this to thy lord and he likes it? Morgoth is a pervert... And a harlot. –he muttered with faltering voice.

Sauron was perplexed by such an insolent affront.

-What art thou saying!?

-Ask in Valinor, ask in the halls of Mandos.

The lieutenant stood up from the bed, furious. Not only was he consumed with unfulfilled lust, but now he also had to listen to a prisoner insulting his lord.

-Very well, I won't waste my time with thee any second longer. Thou wilt return to thy cell, this time naked, and there thou wilt spend thy last night: dying of cold when thou couldst be enjoying thyself in the arms of a Maia. –he sentenced with curtness. - I'll go find thy companion, that man, and I will give him the favours that thou despisest. Surely he will not reject them.

Upon hearing this, the Elf lifted his head and stared at the lieutenant, as if in hesitation. Seeing that he didn't move out of bed, Sauron grabbed his arm, ready to drag him if it was necessary. But to his surprise, the Elf stroked his hand, and the blue of his eyes trembled with regret.

-No, please, lord Sauron, don't bring me back to the cell. I was a fool, I'm sorry. But I changed my mind. Let me be the one to keep thee company tonight, I promise I won't complain anymore. I was nervous and embarrassed, that's all. Please understand that this is the first time someone touches me in this way. But I don't want to die a virgin! Please give me another chance.

Before Sauron had time to reflect on the sincerity or hypocrisy of the Elf, he was already kissing him with apparent desire, while undressing him without qualms. And when he felt the prisoner's mouth closing around his swollen and pleading member, the lieutenant just stopped caring about everything else. The dignified and snooty lord of the Noldor, who only moments ago had been offended by the implication of having slept with his fiancée before marriage, opened then to the Maia without shame, and allowed him to take his body completely.  
Sauron moaned at the feeling of fullness that seized him, and with his eyes closed, he tried to imagine that he was inside his lord again.  
But the illusion was broken soon: the Elf was too weak, and cold, and blond to be taken for his master. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy him as well.

-Dost thou like this? -he whispered, as he entered and left his body slowly. And leaning over his ear, he added with a grin:- Dost thou like this, Finrod Felagund? That I do this to thee in thy own bed, in the same tower in which thou wert once lord? Tomorrow thou wilt tell me all about Nargothrond and your current mission. But tonight enjoy thyself, just enjoy thyself, king of the Noldor.

Sauron licked his neck, and Finrod closed his eyes in pain.  
Besides the river, the wolves were howling madly.

Upon finishing, the lieutenant panted exhausted and the Elf shook from top to bottom, still confused by the new sensations. The Maia put his arm around him and pressed him against his body, while drowsiness began to make way through his head.

-Please, lord Sauron. Could I return now to my cell? –muttered Finrod shyly.

-Mmm ... No, stay here for now. Perhaps my appetite will wake up again during the night. Ah! And don't try to escape, the door of the room is locked with a spell.

In the darkness of the alcove, and before giving himself to restorative sleep, the lieutenant heard the Elf sobbing softly.

-What happens to thee? -he murmured apathetic.- I made thee climax more times than I could count. I don't think thou hast reasons to cry.

Finrod's voice reached him from far away, half sunk into unconsciousness as he was already:

-Oh, lord lieutenant of Angband! Thou art very sharp for some things. I'm surprised that thou art so incredibly obtuse for others.

The next morning, Sauron awoke with a strange feeling of coldness under his arm. Finrod was pale and lethargic, and his breathing was so faint that at first he believed him dead. He shook him to wake him up but the Elf didn't react. Confused, the lieutenant broke the spell that held the door shut, and called out the sentinel Orcs. After a few seconds, a couple of them appeared at the doorway and blinked dumbfounded at the scene they found inside.

-What is going on here!? This Elf appears to be dying, and I had to interrogate him today! What did ye put in his dinner last night!? -he shouted enraged.

The Orcs shrugged.

-My lord, we didn't put any poison in his food, we swear. What happens is that these Elves sometimes get very sick and die when ...-the Orcs exchanged uneasy glances.- ... when ... thou knowest ... when they are abused.

The lieutenant froze, and looked alternatively at Finrod and the Orcs, as if waiting for an explanation.

-But I haven't ... I haven't abused him, damn it! Dost thou think that I'm like you, filthy worms without honour? I don't need to abuse anyone!

The Orcs looked down with shyness.  
Sauron didn't understand. The Elf had surrendered to him of his own free will, he hadn't forced him. It was true that he had seduced him, indeed, and it was true that the prisoner had been reluctant at first. But ultimately, it was Finrod who had decided to stay at his side, and had kissed him, and had given him pleasure willingly! That could only be a morbid joke, a ruse to escape the interrogation.  
Suddenly the Maia felt a great discomfort in his stomach, and disgust, and shame. For the dying Elf that lay next to him, and for the Orcs in the doorway, and perhaps also for himself, for what he had done led by the most ignoble passions.

-Take him out of my sight! Dress him with the remainder of this tunic and bring him to his cell. -he commanded, without even turning to look at him.

Later during that day, he went down to the dungeon to see if the Noldo had recovered enough to carry out the interrogation.  
He found him conscious, but very weak. The human held him in his arms and stroked his hair gently as tears slipped over his head. Upon hearing the creak of the prison's door, Finrod raised his eyes, but their blue colour had faded and become glassy.

-Monster! What hast thou done!? -shouted the man infuriated, when he found himself face to face with the lieutenant. He made a vain attempt to get rid of his chains to leap on him.

Sauron couldn't help being impressed by the ferocity of the man, by his eyes and face, reddened by tears and anger, and by his apparent strength. That wasn't an ordinary man, indeed.  
Finrod lifted a hand slowly and touched the man's face to calm him.

-There's nothing wrong. Don't worry. He may have sullied my body. But in no case can he touch my soul. At least I made him stay away from thee. -said the Elf in an almost inaudible whisper.

The man broke down and redoubled his sobs.

-Tell me ... Tell me that it's not true ... Tell me that he didn't what I think he did ... Not even Morgoth would approve of such a baseness!

-I haven't done anything! –snapped Sauron, increasingly uncomfortable. - It's his fault for being so frail and weak. And anyway, man, don't cry too much for him, for he has little more to suffer in this life. I will take him away for the interrogation, and when I've extracted all the information I need, I will grant death to him and to thee. And it will be the end of your miseries.

However, one of the Orc guards stopped him before he took the prisoner.

-My lord Sauron, he's still too weak. If thou torturest him now, he will probably die before saying anything.

The lieutenant clenched his fists in annoyance. Nothing was more frustrating to him than having to postpone torture. But the Orc was right: if the Elf died, all his secrets would die with him. And after all, an immortal Maia could afford to be patient and wait a bit longer.

-I'll come back later. And thou wilt speak, Finrod Felagund. -he said simply.

And turning away with a fluttering movement of his cape, he slammed the cell door shut. And the prisoners were left in darkness again, trembling.

Throughout the day and evening, Sauron visited the prison regularly to see if Finrod was recovering, but he didn't observe any improvement, and his impatience and irritation kept increasing. He would have liked to grab Thuringwethil and make her taste her own blood with the whip, to kill the idle time between visits, and to thank her for the great advice of sleeping with the Elf. Unfortunately, the vampire seemed to be gone from the tower, no doubt in search of another adventure.

Thus came the sunset. And the wolves began to howl with nervousness and, above all, hunger.  
Outside the cell were heard the low footsteps of some boots going down the stairs towards the dungeon. They were the unmistakable footsteps of the lieutenant, but this time they were accompanied by other steps too, by the quiet and muffled steps of a four-legged creature.  
When the door opened, two eyes glowing like coals peered through the doorway, waiting eagerly at the feet of their master, and the stench of blood filled the stale air of the prison.  
It was a werewolf, and foam gushed out his mouth.

-I've decided to be merciful with thee, Finrod, if just because of the night of pleasure that thou gavest me. –said Sauron, his mouth twisting wryly. - I'll give thee the option to confess everything quickly and without pain, neither for thee nor for thy friend. Then I'll let you go away and ye will live in peace what may be left of your miserable lives. This I promise thee as the Maia I am, and in the name of my lord Melkor, the Mighty Arising. However, if in spite of all, thou insistest on being unreasonable and refusing to talk, then this friend of mine, -and he stroked the head of the monster- will carve up and devour thy human friend before thy own eyes. Be sensible, Finrod, among the virtues of kings is knowing how to reach diplomatic agreements that benefit all sides, isn't it? And thou lovest thy comrade, true? He's important to thee. Thou dost not want to see him slit open while beasts feast on his intestines, am I right?

Upon this, the Elf hesitated for a moment, but soon realized that all options had been reduced to a single, unquestionable one, and lowering his head in defeat, he opened his mouth to confess. Sauron leaned forward expectantly. But once again, the man stood in his way:

-Don't tell him anything, Finrod! Dost thou not see that he's lying?

-But Beren, if I don't, thou ...!

-I don't mind dying. And even less now, that I know I'll never see her again.

-Ye are making me lose my patience, speak it now! –cried Sauron, and the werewolf yanked violently from the chain that restrained him, more enraged every time by the smell of fresh flesh.

-I must confess, Beren. I promised thy father that I would look after thee.

-My father is dead! And I'll be too soon, whether thou talkest or not. But think about _her_. If thou revealst the plan thou wilt put her in danger!

-I'm going to count to three, Finrod! –warned the Maia. The werewolf growled and drooled, and made another attempt at pouncing on them.

-It's the only option, Beren. If I let them kill thee, there will be no peace for my soul neither here nor in the halls of Mandos. Never again.

-One!

-And if thou tellst all, there will be no peace for me neither in this life nor in the next. Knowing that she has fallen into the clutches of Morgoth because of our cowardice.

-Two!

-I'm going to speak.

-No, thou wilt not! -then the man closed the Elf's mouth with his hand, and although he struggled, Finrod was unable to get rid of the gag in his weakened state.

-Three! Farewell, Beren. Go now wherever men go upon death. -and saying this, the lieutenant let go the chain that held the beast, and he jumped on the human.

It all happened in a split second. The Elf, who until then was barely able to get off the ground, and therefore wasn't chained, extracted a supernatural strenght from some secret corner of his being, from his last intact corner, and ran out to meet the monster.  
To the astonishment of the man and the Maia, the two bodies intertwined in a confusion of teeth, torn limbs, claws, saliva, blood and shreds of clothing. The screams of the beast filled the cell with an unbearable roar, but at some point they ceased suddenly.  
The wolf fell to the ground with a thud and his neck broken, and Finrod crawled toward his companion, leaving behind a trail of blood that signaled the end.  
Collapsing on the arms of his faithful friend, he spent the little breath he had left to bid farewell in a whisper:

-Goodbye Beren, son of Barahir. I tried to protect thee as best as I could, and knowing that I die in peace. Maybe we'll meet once more. Though never again in this life. Goodbye.

And thus he died.  
Beren, blinded by tears and unable to utter a single word, just leaned over the corpse and kissed his forehead and his two closed eyelids.

The lieutenant was puzzled. He directed his gaze alternately to the motionless mass of the beast, and to the two figures embraced, without fully understanding what had just happened.  
Outside in the nearby forest, a nightingale began to trill in the twilight. And a song, sweeter, sadder and deeper than any that had been heard in Arda, neither in the melody of its winds, nor in the murmur of its groundwaters, entered the prison through the small window with the last rays of the dying Sun.  
Sauron shuddered upon hearing the voice, and some primordial terror paralyzed him on the spot.  
Once he managed to overcome it, he ran to the window and looked out in search of the wraith that sang thus. But he only saw a maiden standing on the stone bridge that lead to the fortress, and a huge dog at her side, carrying a black bulk in his mouth.

-Lord of the tower! From now onwards, thou wouldst do well by listening more closely to thy spies. -cried the maiden in defiance, raising her arms. And the dog dropped on the floor the shapeless bulk: it was the skin and wings of Thuringwethil, who evidently had passed away.- Thy eye sees many things, but ignores those of us that seem insignificant. Someday that blindness will cause thy downfall.

**Notes:**

**-Sauron's human servant: One of the first men that Melkor took from Hildórien. He granted him a very long life, but also disfigured and mistreated him. Sauron took him under his wing and he turned into his most loyal servant. Known as the "Shadow of Sauron".**

**-Sauron and Orodreth: Before assaulting Minas Tirith, Sauron infiltrated the tower as a maiden (under the fake name of "Thuringwethil") to inspect the defenses. Ashamed of telling Melkor that he had turned into a woman to enter the tower, he simply told his master that Thuringwethil had done it. Thus Melkor asked him to make the vampire his second-in-command in the tower, in gratitude for her supposed spionage mission.**


	2. The Lady on the Stone Bridge

**The Lady on the Stone Bridge**

_But Lúthien hath cunning arts  
for solace sweet of kingly hearts._

-The Lay of Leithian: Canto XIII.

It took Sauron just a few seconds to recognize the two visitors of the tower. The maiden couldn't be other than Lúthien, the daughter of Melian, as her breathtaking song and painful-to-look-at beauty indicated. The lieutenant tried to avert his eyes from her face at once, with a superstitious fear of being bewitched by some enchantment of feminine evil, since he had heard that the maiden was an expert sorcerer, just as her mother.  
The huge dog was, to the annoyance of Sauron, none other than Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar. The antipathy that he felt for the animal came from long ago. Already in Valinor, when Sauron was still a servant of Aulë, and the attraction towards Melkor had just begun to insinuate in his heart, already then, that dog had sensed something dark in his soul, something that not even the most intuitive of the Valar could perceive yet. And he had instinctively hated him. Not once passed the Maia by the animal, without him raising his hackles and starting to growl and bark, to the embarrassment of Oromë, that was unable to correct him.  
In one occasion Sauron had tried to soften the tension in the air, and pretending that he didn't care about Huan's barks, he had approached the dog to stroke his head, but he had bitten his hand before the astonished eyes of his owner. The thousand faltering apologies of Oromë were to no avail; from that day on, Sauron felt deep resentment towards the dog, and didn't desire anything but to destroy him.  
Because of fate's coincidences, now he had a perfect opportunity to do so.

-Oh, Lúthien, Lúthien! I think thou hast lost thyself. If what thou wantedst were green meadows covered with flowers, on which to dance under the stars, thou wilt not find them here. But thou canst, however, dance among the bones of thy friends under the vaults of my dungeons. I have them right here. -said the lieutenant in a mocking tone.

-I know. I've come to bury those bones, precisely under the debris of thy ruined tower. And I've come to rescue my beloved as well. –answered Lúthien impassively.

Sauron smiled, impressed by the calm and cold blood of the girl.

-Dost thou know, Lúthien? I promised my Lord once that I would capture thee for him and I would cage thee like a songbird. It is fortunate that thou thyself hast come flying to my cage, with no need for me to go out to hunt thee down.

-Thou art wrong, lord of the tower. It's me who will capture thee, and send thee to the presence of thy master. Though I doubt he will receive thee with much pleasure.

Sauron clenched his teeth, increasingly irritated by the defiant attitude of the maiden. She stood motionless on the stone bridge, and neither the deep waters of the moat, nor the threatening battlements of the tower, nor the howls that came from within, seemed to disturb her in the least.  
Beren continued crying with the lifeless body of Finrod in his arms, but his face had lit up with hope upon hearing the song and voice of his beloved, and that further infuriated the lieutenant.  
He assembled then all his werewolves, and sent them to the bridge to tear that accursed dog to pieces and bring him Lúthien alive. The plan to interrogate Finrod and extract the secrets of Nargothrond and his mission had failed miserably, but that didn't mean that he couldn't find usefulness for those two lovers. Thingol would give them the entire kingdom as soon as he knew that his adored daughter was in Angband. As for the mortal, he certainly knew some of the secrets of Finrod. And if it wasn't so, at least he would be good entertainment for his human servant, who surely missed the company of those of his race.

However, what Sauron saw through the small window pulled him out of his scheming very soon.  
Despite the ferocity of the werewolves, and that they went out through the gates of the fortress in large numbers, Huan defeated and killed them one by one without great problems. Soon a pile of dead skins accumulated on the bridge, on the banks of the moat, or even floated on the stagnant waters.  
In view of this, the lieutenant was forced to take more drastic measures. He ran to one of the turrets, isolated from the rest, and drew back the seven iron bolts of the door, which didn't serve to prevent entry into the turret, but to prevent exit of what hid the turret. Inside, fastened with other seven chains, writhed among froth and growls the largest and most terrible of all the werewolves of the isle, the father of them all. Draugluin was called, and even Sauron felt some fearful respect for the creature, because the spirit that inhabited the body of that wolf had gone mad with rage long time ago, and in his bloodlust he didn't always differentiate between friend and foe.  
With lots of caution, he approached him and began to loosen the chains, but the werewolf tried to bite him and almost hurted his arm.

-Thou hast left me too much time locked in here without food, lord lieutenant. Give me a good reason to not eat thee right now. -roared the beast with a deep voice, while streams of bloody drool slipped through his fangs.

-Outside is Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar, a much more delicious morsel than me. Him thou canst eat whole. But I want the maiden alive.

-I promise nothing. -snapped the monster, and as soon as he saw himself freed from the chains, he ran like a furious whirlwind out of the turret, knocking down more than one off-guard Orc.

Sauron looked out at the bridge again, in time to see how Draugluin charged at Huan and sank his teeth in his jugular.  
The fight was terrible, and streams of red and black blood flowed from both opponents. But at the end of the battle, the dog of the Valar was still standing. The werewolf, on the other hand, crawled painfully into the fortress and went to die in front of his master, cursing the name of Huan with his last breath.

Sauron felt extremely humiliated. Down there, the dog panted a little tired, but still willing to fight. And Lúthien fixed on him her undaunted eyes, that seemed to gather the mocking brightness of all the stars of Varda together.  
The lieutenant remembered then an old prophecy that spoke of how Huan would only fall before the jaws of the greatest wolf that had ever existed, and a cunning idea crossed his mind.

Moments later, a black and monstrously huge beast, with one eye of glass and one of flame, went outside and run forward across the bridge. His first target was Lúthien, whom he planned to bite on the face, thus ruining her beauty forever. He realized with satisfaction how terror appeared on the maiden's visage at the moment of pouncing on her, but then she waved the dark cloak that covered her in front of the eyes of the Maia, and a strange daze clouded his mind. Sauron staggered confused, and before he had time to react, he felt the dog's jaws closing around his throat like a steel trap.  
The lieutenant squirmed in panic, and his body faded painfully, melting and regrouping in a rapid succession of horrendous forms that completely escaped his control. First he lost his members and got covered with scales, then countless tentacles sprouted from his body and stirred in despair, but not even thus he managed to escape from the jaws of Huan.  
Finally, defeated, he recovered his usual appearance and was left panting and trembling.  
A shape wrapped in darkness stood in front of him, and when he raised his eyes he ran into the perfect and ironic smile of Lúthien.

-Look at thee, proud lord of the tower. Thou wouldst not move even if thou gatheredst all thy black sorcery for it. Give me the keys of the tower and the spell that binds stone to stone. If thou dost not, I'll rip that flesh envelope that covers now thy spirit, and I will send thee naked before thy lord Morgoth, and thou wilt be unable to do anything to hide thy shame anymore because I'll rob thee of that power forever. I've got that ability, so do not tempt me.

Sauron blinked blinded and confused by the gray glow emitted by the maiden's eyes. He struggled weakly, in an attempt to escape, but the fangs of the dog sank deeper into his neck, and he felt a trickle of blood running down his skin.  
In his head crowded suddenly all the memories and feelings of those sixty years that he had spent immured and naked in Angband, and imagined how would it be to live the rest of his existence like that: constantly exposed to the gaze of the other Maiar, despised by Melkor, moreover, unable to mate with Melkor anymore.  
Feeling violated in the uttermost depths of his being, he had no choice but to consent to the agreement. And with strangled voice, he whispered in the ear of Lúthien the words that kept the fortress standing and that, likewise, could tear it down.  
Satisfied, the maiden told Huan to release the Maia, and he fled away in the shape of a bat.  
He was so embarrassed, that he didn't even dare to look back, to see how the tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth collapsed amid a column of dust and debris.

When the summits of Thangorodrim emerged before his eyes, Sauron didn't remember the path he had followed to reach Angband due to his general bewilderment.  
Flitting from here to there without much judgment, he sought a discreet entrance through which he could penetrate the fortress without being seen by anyone. The last thing he wanted was having to explain his failure in front of the hordes of curious Orcs, and of sarcastic Balrogs, and above all, of Gothmog. Explaining what had happened to Melkor was going to be a painful enough experience to endure, on top of that, a public humiliation.  
In the end, the lieutenant found an open window that led to a foul kitchen, and without leaving his bat shape, he went through the galleries of Angband searching for the alcove of his human servant.

It was already dead of night and he found him, indeed, inside his bed and asleep. Sauron adopted then his common shape, approached the bedside, and shook the man to wake him up. The first thing the servant did when he opened his eyes, and discerned in the half-light a dark shadow bending over him, was moving away with a start and covering himself with the sheet.

-Please, no, have mercy on me! -he cried in alarm, and the lieutenant was forced to cover his mouth with his hand to avoid being overheard outside.

After a series of struggles and reassuring words, Sauron managed to convince him that he was none other than his master, back at the fortress. Then the man relaxed, and all his fear turned immediately into sincere happiness, and oaths of devotion, and praise, and effusive welcomes.  
The Maia thought that the poor creature would throw himself in his arms at any moment if he didn't stop him.

-Silence and listen! –he cut him off with a curt gesture- Thou hast to do me a favour. A secret favour that nobody must know of.

The man opened his eyes and mouth in astonishment, and suddenly he seemed extremely excited.

-Of course, master! I am at thy entire disposal to do whatever thou askest me. –he said dutifully, and dropped himself on the pillow with languidness.

-Well, then get dressed, look for the lord Melkor and tell him that I've returned to Angband and need to talk to him privately about a matter of vital importance. Tell him that I'd like to meet him in his bedroom. And remember, no one must know of this, no one must know that I'm in the fortress except Melkor. Now go away!

For some mysterious reason, the man seemed very disappointed upon hearing this, and got dressed and left the room a little reluctantly.  
After a while he returned to inform him that Melkor was waiting for him in the bedroom. Sauron turned into a bat again and headed there with the utmost discretion.  
Fortunately, there were no sentries in front of the room.

While standing at the door, and before knocking on it to inform of his arrival, uncertainty paralyzed him for a moment. He hadn't seen his master in ten years and didn't know what he was going to find inside, especially after the fight with Fingolfin.  
What if he had lost an eye, for example? What if they had cut him a member?  
Unable to endure the doubts any longer, he plucked up courage, knocked on the door, and after hearing Melkor's permission, entered the room cautiously.  
His master had his back turned, looking out the window, and at least at first glance he seemed to be well. However, when he turned to greet the lieutenant, the latter couldn't help being startled by what he saw.  
A huge scar, like three whitish striae, crossed the left half of the face of his master, in what must be the mark of an animal claw.  
Melkor frowned upon seeing this reaction.

-What happens Sauron? Dost thou think that my scar is ugly? -groaned the Vala, very offended.

-With all due respect, my Lord, I think it's horrible. -confessed Sauron, once he recovered his composure. Melkor's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to throw out some curse at him, but the lieutenant continued before he had time to reply.- However, thou art still as beautiful as before. Even more so, because that mark gives thee now that fierce and fearsome air thou deservest. I wish I could have seen thee battling with that foolish Elf, have seen thee in thy black armour brandishing Grond as easily as others wave a feather. A god of rage and war, bathed in the blood of his enemies. I wish I could have been there, to perceive all that virile magnetism emanating from thy body, and to feel it entering through every one of my pores. Oh, my Lord, how I would have fallen at thy feet then!

The lieutenant took a tentative step towards the Vala, in a seductive attitude, and Melkor's mood seemed to soften at once. Sauron knew very well how to appease his lord and cheer him up, and precisely then, that he brought him such unpleasant news, he needed to soften him as much as possible.  
Melkor also approached a bit, and then the Maia realized with horror that he limped on one of his legs and could only walk with obvious pain and difficulty.  
This time the lieutenant didn't let his emotions show through, because even if the scar on his face was a trifle, that injury must be terribly humiliating for the Vala, and by showing pity he would just hurt him further.  
Melkor, however, guessed his disturbance.

-As thou canst see, Sauron, I'm also crippled. What dost thou think? I, the most powerful god of Arda, can barely walk, while the last and most despicable of Orcs scampers around me just like that. As thou canst guess, now everyone knows about my inability to change shape, but at least I don't need to wear that glove anymore. Let all of them see my hand burned by the Silmarils, and my face torn by the claws of Thorondor, and my shameful lameness! What does it matter now? I have also another seven scars across my body... But those I will only show to thee. In private.

The Vala smiled with a curious mixture of lust and shyness. Then Sauron stood before him, encircled his waist with his arms, and grabbing his backside, pressed him against his pelvis.  
While he explored that familiar body through the robe, he noticed how Melkor apprached his hips in an eloquent gesture and began to throb aroused.

-Didst thou not have to tell me something very important, the reason why thou hast left thy post in Tol-in-Gaurhoth? –muttered the Vala, as his servant kissed him along the neck.

-Yes, my Lord. But let me love thee first, please. I've been away from thee for too long, and now I don't crave anything but seeing those scars that thou speakst about and run my tongue over each one of them.

-Those scars are the constant reminder of the pain that I feel, Sauron.

-And that pain is the constant reminder of thy triumph over the king of the Noldor and the despair of thy enemies, my Lord.

Melkor sighed pleased and allowed his lieutenant's caresses to comfort him.  
It was true that Sauron wanted to make him forget his misery, at least for a while. And it was true that he wanted to feel his body again with a sincere passion.  
But it was also true that this was the best way to inform him that Tol-in-Gaurhoth no longer existed.  
Whenever one made love to him, Melkor was left in an exhausted and melancholic state, much more appropriate for the tough mission of giving him the bad news. Also, once he was completely satisfied, the Vala tended to relativize and downplay everything around him.  
So if he had to talk about his defeat at the hands of a maiden and her dog, he better do it when his master had no breath to yell at him.

Thinking about this, Sauron pushed Melkor slightly towards the bed. And the Vala, guessing what came next, hung from his neck with redoubled passion and pressed his face against his skin to get filled with the scent of the Maia, as he often did.  
But this time, the smell that he perceived was different.  
With a sudden shove, the Vala moved his servant away, and when the lieutenant looked at him in dismay, he discovered on his countenance a deep indignation.

-Sauron, thou hast slept with an Elf! How darest thou to touch me while being still drenched in his nauseating smell!?

-I ... I have not ... My Lord, what art thou talking about?

-Do not play innocent with me! Didst thou really think that I wouldn't notice? With whom hast thou slept? Confess!

Sauron looked down, blushing to the tips of his hair. He couldn't lie, not to Melkor.

-With Finrod... With Finrod Felagund, the king of Nargothrond.

Melkor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

-And may I know the unfathomable reason why thou hast raped the king of Nargothrond?

-I didn't rape him! –protested Sauron for the umpteenth time.

-So that means he made advances towards thee?

-Well, not exactly, but...

-I don't understand anything, Sauron. Why didst thou do something as stupid and disgusting as sleeping with an Elf?

The lieutenant felt increasingly irritated. Normally it was he who did the interrogations, not who suffered them.

-And what about thee, huh? –he snapped- Art thou going to tell me now that in ten years thou hast lived in perfect chastity? Thou mustest have had hundreds of lovers.

-Here in Angband!? –exclaimed Melkor, pointing with his arms around him.- Who!? The Orcs? The trolls? Glaurung, perhaps?

-What about Gothmog?

-Hmmm ... That didn't work. –muttered the Vala, looking away.- But stop talking about me, and let's talk about thee and what has happened in Tol-in-Gaurhoth! I suspect thou art hiding something important and I want to know it right now. Depending on what it is, I will reward thee with a bit of love later... or maybe not, we'll see.

Sauron sighed downhearted, and made an effort to cool his desire. It was clear that he would spend that night alone as well.  
He told his lord everything that had happened in the tower, from the capture of the twelve outlaws, to his lapse with Finrod, the arrival of Lúthien and Huan, the slaughter of the werewolves, and finally, his own defeat in the fight with the dog of the Valar.  
After finishing his story, he waited downcast for Melkor's punishment, for his shouts of rage, his curses, maybe for a loud slap.  
But instead of that, he just heard him breaking into laughter.  
The lieutenant looked at him dumbfounded. Of all the things that his master could have done, laughing in his face that way was probably the most humiliating one.  
The Maia coughed very uncomfortable:

-Ahem! My Lord, I don't think that having lost our base of the river Sirion and having seen all our werewolves turned into carrion is a cause for laughter. Not even the death of Thuringwethil should be a cause for laughter.

-I know, Sauron, I know. –said the Vala, trying to control himself in vain.- But still I can't believe that a little girl and her pet have defeated the proud lieutenant of Angband. It's so pathetic of thee...!

-I imagine it's much more pathetic than being eaten by a spider, my Lord.

Melkor's laughter ceased at once, and he narrowed his eyes furious. Perhaps he wasn't the most suitable to make fun of others, after all.

-I suppose thou knowest already that thou wilt receive a tremendous punishment for all of this, right? –he said awkwardly, and turning his back to him, limped to the window.

-Of course, my Lord. I didn't expect anything else, and will accept my punishment with resignation. I know that what I've done is very serious.

-Well. Tomorrow thou wilt receive one hundred lashes in front of the troops. And it will be Gothmog who administers them to thee.

Sauron's eyes widened in disbelief. Maybe he wasn't so willing to accept his punishment with resignation, after all.

-Gothmog? But my liege, Gothmog has no authority over me, he's not entitled to punish me! I am the lieutenant, I am his superior. It's too shameful!

-Well Sauron, of course it's shameful. It wouldn't be a real punishment if it was not, isn't it true? –replied Melkor, turning around and giving him a charming smile of malice.

Seconds later, Sauron left the room so enraged, that he almost ran over his human servant, who clearly had stayed behind the door to listen the conversation.

-What happened, master? Didn't it go well? -asked the man, running after the lieutenant to reach him in his strides.

-What dost thou think!? Hast thou heard us playing in bed? No, isn't it? –groaned the Maia stopping short.

A half-concealed smirk appeared on the lips of his servant.

-I'm sorry, master. The lord Melkor treats thee very bad sometimes. Thou deservest more appreciation and admiration, indeed. -and then he added cryptically:- Well, I will be in my alcove just in case... well, just in case thou _neededst _me later.

The next day at dawn, the hordes of Angband crowded in the throne room to attend the well-deserved punishment of their lieutenant.  
Floggings and public humiliations were among the favourite entertainments in the fortress, and the spectacle of that day turned out to be more than just satisfactory.  
A hundred times hit Gothmog's fire whip on the white back of the Maia, and a hundred times cheered the Balrogs his captain to accompany each crack.  
Gothmog enjoyed that stellar moment more than he had enjoyed any battle, no matter how victorious had it been. And the Orcs laughed rowdy. And Melkor shivered with pleasure at every cry of his lieutenant.  
Only the Shadow of Sauron stayed in a corner, dejected and joyless.

When the last fire lashing had crossed the skin of the Maia, Gothmog untied him and helped him to his feet, in a gesture rather of mocking superiority than kindness. Sauron felt the scorched grooves of his back piercing him to the core, as a hundred twinges of pain.  
Not that it mattered. As the Ainu he was, able to change shape at will, he could recover his intact flesh whenever he wanted. It was rather the shame of having cried under the whip of his rival what tormented him.  
Melkor was satisfied and rose from the throne. But he did it too abruptly, and a sharp pain in his side forced him to bend and let out a moan. That was where the sword of Fingolfin had penetrated him at deepest.  
The jubilant atmosphere fell silent at once, and Melkor ran his uneasy eyes over the worried faces of his Orcs and Balrogs.

-What are ye doing there stunned, don't ye see that the show is already over!? Get out of my sight, scum! -he shouted, and in a second the throne room was empty except for the Vala, the lieutenant and Gothmog.

The sight of his lord in agony, suffering from wounds that would never heal, had made Sauron forget his own pain. And by the time when Melkor came before him, limping miserably, all the annoyance of the Maia was already gone.

-Sauron, wipe that blood that is dripping on my floor and put thy shirt back. And now listen well ye two, because we have to do something about the current situation. –ordered the Vala, and once the lieutenant had recovered his dignity, he continued with the instructions.- We know that Finrod is dead, and whatever plans that he had in mind, he took them to the grave with him. But we still have that Bur... eh ...

-Beren, my Lord.

- ... That _Beren_ wandering through the woods in freedom, together with the half-Elf and the mangy dog of the Valar. And I can't stay calm on my throne knowing that those who stole my fortress of the Sirion still live in freedom and without receiving their punishment.

-What dost thou command, my Lord?

-The first thing I'm going to do is placing my favourite wolf, my loyal Carcharoth, at the gates of Angband. Just so that, in the unlikely event that those wretches arrived here unharmed, they'll be unable to come inside but in pieces. Other than that, I want that thee, Gothmog, watchest over the borders of Doriath. Perhaps Lúthien will decide to visit her outcast father. As for thee, Sauron... how didst thou say that was called the father of Beren?

-Barahir, my Lord. He was the leader of that band of outlaws that we destroyed in Taur-nu-Fuin. Thanks to my cunning, I might add... -and the lieutenant glanced sideways to his rival.

-It's true, Barahir. Well, in that case thou, Sauron, wilt watch over Taur-nu-Fuin and darken its paths and fill the lush grove with terrors. It's possible that this man has his hideout in the same place where his father had it, and if it's so, I want him to get tangled in the net of thy spells and to not come out anymore.

The lieutenant nodded, assenting, and then left the throne room with Gothmog to get going as soon as possible.  
At the gates of Angband, the Balrog elbowed him upon departing, and whispered in his ear:

-I hope thou hast better luck in this mission than in thy last post, Gorthaur. Although on the other hand, this morning I've enjoyed myself a great deal, and I would like to repeat it sometime in the future, what dost thou think, eh, lieutenant? -and he burst into a loud guttural laughter.

Sauron simply turned into a bat once more and headed for the shadowy pine forest of Taur-nu-Fuin, but not without making sure first that he sank his claws in the face of the Balrog to fly off.

After this, Angband was very peaceful and quiet during the following days. Nothing seemed to threaten its domains, nothing seemed to lurk around.  
And Melkor started to grow bored.  
Especially now that Carcharoth guarded the entrance of the fortress and couldn't accompany him at the foot of the throne. At least before, he could entertain himself seeing the wolf devouring the raw Elf flesh that he gave him, or seeing how he bristled and growled whenever he sensed the proximity of an Orc.  
Even sometimes, he had the luck of seeing the wolf eating the aforementioned Orc if he caught him off-guard.  
But now it was only him, Melkor, and his throne.  
The black and empty room opened before him like a huge lifeless mausoleum. Even his breath produced echo.

Melkor stirred restless on his seat, and shifted one more time. No matter how he sat, his spine hurt the same.  
He thought about going around the fortress and looking for some lazy Orc or troll to torture for a while, but the prospect of having to drag his limp along all the corridors and staircases of Angband soon discouraged him.  
The Vala sighed, and changed position again. It was useless, the jabs in his column wouldn't disappear.  
Such a shame that he could only kill Fingolfin once!  
After a while fighting against these annoyances he became really exasperated. He needed urgently some entertainment to distract him from the pain, and a malicious idea began to take shape in his mind.  
There was a creature in Angband that was always amusing to torment. Especially since, unlike Orcs, hardened by abuse throughout the centuries and used to it, this creature was still fragile and still had some dignity.  
And only who has dignity can be truly humiliated.  
Melkor rose painfully from the throne and went in search for the Shadow of Sauron.  
When his master wasn't in the fortress, the human used to stay out of everything and go as unnoticed as he could, but the Vala knew how to find him.

A few minutes later he dragged him to the throne room, ignoring his whining and pleading, and chained him at the foot of his seat, in the place formerly occupied by Carcharoth. He would be a more or less acceptable substitute for the wolf, even if he couldn't trust this one and had to leave him chained.  
For a long time, Melkor enjoyed his company by molesting him and forcing him to behave like a dog.  
The man didn't dare to complain at any time, not even when the Vala touched him in inappropriate ways, but with the passing of hours his stomach began to rumble with hunger.  
Melkor raised then an eyebrow mischievously.

-But how could I forgot? Thy food, of course! At this time I used to give Carcharoth a good piece of Elf thigh.

And stretching out his arm, he grabbed a piece of raw and sickening meat from a nearby bucket, and threw it to the human. He watched the whitish tendons and the pool of blood forming on the flagstones, and his stomach clenched.

-My lord Melkor, I can't eat this or I'll get sick. Do not force me to do it, I beg thee.

The Vala snorted in disgust.

-Bah! Ye men always get sick because of any triviality. Thou borest me. I'm going to see how is doing my new young dragon, Ancalagon. At least he has intelligence to converse.

Melkor stood up with a yawn, and walked toward the back of the room, heading for the dungeons.  
The Shadow of Sauron glared at the Vala as he disappeared under an arch, and took the opportunity to spit on the floor with contempt.  
How different was everything when his master was in Angband! Then Melkor didn't treat him like a dog, if only in deference to his lieutenant.  
Of course, the Vala would rather not displease too much the one who, after all, warmed him in bed...  
The man twisted his mouth in disgust, not because of the raw meat in front of him, from which blood was still flowing, but because of this last thought.  
Yes, he truly hated Melkor (or should he say Morgoth?). He barely dared to admit it, but he hated him.  
He hated him because the Vala had deceived and disappointed him, because he had trusted him as a god just to receive nothing but pain and humiliation in return.  
And he hated him all the more, because his master Sauron loved him.

Immersed as he was in these gloomy thoughts, the man had barely noticed that a beast had entered the room and approached him with silent steps. When he raised his eyes from the ground, he was almost over him.  
It was a horrible blue-furred werewolf. And though the eyes of the monster seemed strangely tame, the man recoiled terrified.  
The beast came towards him, no doubt ready to eat him, but the chain kept him from fleeing. As a last resort, he threw the piece of meat to his jaws, hoping that he'd get satiated with it and spare his life.  
But to his surprise, the werewolf passed quietly by, and walked under the throne. And there he lay in silence, as docile as a puppy.  
He hadn't recovered from his bewilderment, when the man perceived a strange noise between the arches of the vault, as a hesitant flapping. And he could make out a dark silhouette perched on top of a column.

-Who art thou? -he asked with some fear.

-I'm a shadow. -replied a woman's voice.- Who art thou?

-A Shadow too.

-Thou seemst to be of the race of men. Or at least, thou hast been it in the past. And thou seemst in trouble. If thou wantest, I could free thee from the chains of Morgoth forever. –offered the voice.

The man made a sneer.

-No, thanks. I don't need anyone to set me free. I'm very happy here.

-I see. As thou likest it. –the distinctive echo of some uneven steps echoed through the corridors, approaching the room. The dark silhouette shrunk on its capital, and said in a very low voice:- Now look... and listen.

Melkor returned and dropped on the throne, grumbling under his breath. He had found Ancalagon asleep, and despite the kicks that he gave him, he was unable to wake the dragon. He would punish him later for it, if he remembered the issue and still bothered him.  
The man was very upset, and with faltering voice he tried to warn him about something under the throne and on the roof, but Melkor was in no mood to listen to his ravings.  
He noticed then the piece of meat thrown several feet away, and frowned.

-Is this how thou receivest the food I give thee!? Ungrateful dog ... -and he hit him on the head.

The man bit his lip in anger; if Melkor didn't want to listen to his warnings, well, then let him deal himself with the intruders.  
Up on the roof was heard a flapping, and Melkor raised his eyes at last.

-Who art thou and how didst thou get there? Reveal thyself immediately! -he commanded, between furious and intrigued.

A winged shadow fell from the vault, soaring in circles.  
It was a huge and repulsive vampire, with the membranous wings full of tears, frizzy hair and bloody claws.  
Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-And whom do I owe the honour of this unexpected visit?

-I'm Thuringwethil, my lord. Thuringwethil the vampire. -replied the creature with a bow.

The Vala laughed out loud, but it was that laughter of his that chilled the blood, because foreboded an imminent punishment.

-Liar! Thuringwethil is dead, and besides, she smells a lot worse than thee. Now show me thy true appearance! -and with a hand movement, Melkor broke the illusion that hid the intruder.

The hollow skin of the vampire fell to the floor with a thud, and in its place rose a beautiful maiden wrapped in a blue dress.  
Melkor froze a few seconds before the ethereal vision: The gray eyes that hid in their depths the most ancient sorcery, the black hair imbued with the secrets of the night, the perfect white skin, the immaculate beauty, undefiled, flawless.  
Melkor put his hand on his cheek instinctively, and felt the swollen scar that the claws of Thorondor had left him. Annoyed, he pulled his hand away.

-My name is Lúthien, my lord. –informed quickly the maiden, bowing again, but this time more gracefully.

- Ah, yes, Lúthien! Who hasn't heard of Lúthien, the daughter of Thingol? I must confess, however, that the rumours about thy beauty are exaggerated. –lied the Vala, making a dismissive gesture.

-I understand that for a god, and even more so for the most powerful of the gods, my common beauty must seem insignificant.

-Indeed! Why didst thou come here to Angband? Hast thou grown bored already of thy immortal life and wantest to put an end to it? I warn thee that it will be a slow and painful end, nonetheless.

-My lord, what I have grown bored of is the life of imprisonment and constant vigilance that I suffered in Doriath. My father is too jealous and protective. He thinks that I'm a valuable jewel that could be stolen at any time, and if he had his way, he would lock me in a display cabinet forever. But I know which are the real jewels of Arda and I know who is truly the only being worthy of admiration and devotion in this world. Nothing on earth is more worthwhile than contemplating thee in all thy greatness, and I fear no danger if the reward is to be in thy presence and serve thee. Only upon thy forehead shines the true light of the Trees. Please, my lord, accept me as thy servant and let me bathe in that divine light as well.

The girl lowered her head humbly, and Melkor had to make a great effort to not get won by praise, because the truth was that it always managed to touch his most sensitive fiber.

-All this that thou hast said about my greatness, I already know it. But don't think that flattery will save thee from my dungeons. Why would I want thee as my servant, also? What can a little girl like thee do for me, huh? Canst thou carry an axe perchance, or a sword, canst thou defeat the kings of the Noldor in battle? No!

-I can sing and dance for thee, my lord.

This time Melkor laughed heartily. Lúthien, however, remained immutable before his taunts.

-Thou unhappy one! Thou art talking with the god who brought the world into being with his singing. What can provide me thy flat squeakings?

-Even so, my lord, I beg thee to hear me sing before judging me.

-Nothing of that, thou wilt go directly to the dungeons! Thou mayst have deceived my lieutenant, but thou wilt not do it with me. -the Vala, all his patience lost already with the intruder, made as if to stand up from the throne to grab the girl.

But a twinge in his side stopped him, and the maiden escaped nimbly from his clutches.

-Please, my lord, it will be just a moment. Listen!

Then, before the helpless and incredulous eyes of Melkor, Lúthien began to sing a melody of rare beauty and to dance in front of his throne without even asking for permission.  
The singing of the girl seemed to have some kind of physical quality, as if it was entwining with the air of the room and formed a rope around Melkor, which kept him on the throne, unable to move.  
The Vala began to relax much to his chagrin, and an invincible weariness took hold of his legs, and then of his arms, and finally of his entire body.  
And at the same time that this weariness seized him, a tenuous flow of pleasure began to run down his veins as well. And it was so nice, so sublime that mixture of weakness and pleasure, that he quickly forgot where he was and what he was doing. And the evil thoughts that a moment ago inhabited his mind, began to disintegrate one by one.  
Now he just wanted to hear that melody and watch the ethereal shape dancing in front of him.  
Blue veils swirled under the torch lights emitting unreal flashes, and among them peered, from time to time, two gray eyes. Melkor shuddered upon seeing those eyes, and let out a sigh.  
It was so delicious, that feeling, that melody that went inside and outside of his body with each inflection of the voice... And the Silmarils were heavy. The Silmarils had become the three summits of Thangorodrim. The weight of the world upon his head.  
Beside him, the chained man moaned in his sleep, and Melkor discovered with horror and anxiety that he too wanted to surrender to sleep.  
But that couldn't be, he never slept. Only when... Only after making love.  
That Elf loved him, no doubt. Was she trying to seduce him? And what could he do?  
Melkor slid down the back of the throne, as if finally offering himself.  
A million images of torture, and pain, and carnal acts of the past, and exquisite pleasure assaulted his mind at the same time. And among them, intermittently, appeared the blue veils and the two gray eyes, dragging him to the dephts. Always down, down and inside.  
Then everything went black, and he knew no more.

The first thing he saw upon awakening, was the face of his lieutenant bending over him with concern. That wasn't so unusual, but the faces of the many Orcs and Balrogs that he discovered around when his vision was no longer blurred, was it.

-Sauron, what are all these people doing in my bedroom? -he murmured, trying to sit up.

His head hurt as much as if three Tulkas had danced on it.

-Thou art not in thy bed, my Lord. Thou art lying on the ground. –the Maia informed him.

Melkor blinked several times, until he focused the room correctly.  
Indeed, he was in the throne room, spread-eagled on the stone slabs without much dignity, and everyone watched him disturbed.  
Blushing, the Vala accepted the arm that his lieutenant offered him and stood up. His right side was bruised and sore, and jabs ran through his lame leg.

-What happened, Sauron? What art thou doing here?

-My spies of Taur-nu-Fuin informed me that they had seen two beings similar to Thuringwethil and Draugluin heading this way. I suspected it was a trap, so I flew to Angband as fast as I could. However, I couldn't make it on time, as it seems. I don't know how the intruders managed to elude the vigilance of Carcharoth, and besides, the wolf is gone...

The torrent of information thundered in the ears of Melkor without him understanding its meaning very well.  
Only the remains of a ghostly melody reverberated still in his memory.  
Then the Vala noticed a suspicious lightness on his head, and realized that the iron crown was lying a few steps from him.  
That made him feel terribly naked.

-Pick up my crown right now, stupid! -he shouted to a nearby Orc, kicking him.

The wretched creature bowed before him until touching the ground with his nose, and brought him the crown at once. The Vala snatched it from his trembling claws and placed it back above his forehead, feeling immediately relieved.  
At that moment, a cry of horror filled the throats of all present, and even Sauron stepped back, his eyes frozen.

-What? What's going on? What are ye all looking at!? -roared the Vala, enraged. The Orcs began to tremble, and some of them stuttered while pointing at the crown. Melkor clenched his fists, irritated by their sudden muteness.- A mirror! Bring me a mirror immediately!

There was general confusion, and some Orcs took the opportunity to flee the room surreptitiously. Finally, a group of Balrogs brought a full-length mirror to the Vala, and then retreated in haste without looking up.  
Melkor examined his reflection.  
The first thing he noticed was a new cut on his cheek, still bleeding. It was shallow and probably would not left a scar, but it overshadowed his mood nonetheless.  
He raised his eyes a little, and squinting, he watched the glow of his Silmarils. They were as beautiful and bright as always, as fascinating and as painful to behold as always.  
With the exception that, instead of being three, now they were just two. The only thing the two jewels of the sides framed, was the huge empty hole of the central stone, all the more evident because of this frame of light.

The corner of Melkor's lips contracted imperceptibly. And in the ominous silence of the room was heard the gnashing of teeth that pressed against each other.  
A very fine line appeared on the surface of the mirror, and then spread from the center to the rim.  
There was a subtle "crack", and then the mirror exploded into a thousand pieces, injuring those who were around. The yells of anger and curses of the Vala shook Angband from its foundations to the highest peaks of Thangorodrim, and a wave of fire swept the entire room and lit the tapestries that covered the walls.  
Panic spread among the Orcs, trapped by the flames, and they tried to flee in stampede, trampling each other. Sauron was quick to send a gust of ice around to extinguish the fire, before it consumed the whole room, while Melkor destroyed pieces of furniture, one after the other, and shouted incoherencies:

-My Silmaril! Who among you, filthy traitors, has my Silmaril!? Give it back to me! And don't dare to look at my crown, don't look at my crown, ye damned things! I'll rip out the eyes of anyone who dares to look at my crown! And I want that all mirrors of Angband are destroyed! Give me back my Silmaril!

The lieutenant tried to calm the Vala grabbing him by the shoulders, but when he touched him, he burned his hands. He wasn't sure if it was due to the incandescence of Melkor, or to some extreme iciness that had invaded him.  
Unable to approach him with his physical form, Sauron found no choice but to disembody and violently pass through the Vala to focus his attention.  
The lieutenant materialized again before him, and Melkor was paralyzed for a few seconds, shaking with fury and disbelief.  
Now the Vala could hear him.

-Please, calm down, my Lord. I'll find thy Silmaril, I guarantee thee. But thou mustest rest. Also, I don't think that an army of blind Orcs would be very useful, dost thou think not?

Melkor nodded absently, with his gaze lost beyond the Maia.

-Yes, Sauron, seeks my Silmaril. Bring it to me right away. -and he extended his hand.

Sauron kissed it with caution. It didn't burn anymore, but in his swollen veins the blood was still boiling.  
After this, the Vala turned around and left the room, limping and leaning on the pillars.  
Behind him he left dozens of Orcs rubbing his wounds and burns, multiple broken slabs, many crystals on the floor, and lots of tapestries reduced to ashes.  
A figure peered shyly from under the throne after the hurricane had passed, and called the lieutenant.

-Master, thou art here at last! Couldst thou release me? I beg thee. I've been chained all the day, without eating and unable to relieve myself.

Sauron took pity on his poor human servant, and opened the chain that held him with a spell.  
The man, instead of standing up, stayed kneeling on the floor and kissed his feet, as if he had grown used to act like a dog.

-I wish that the lord Melkor didn't humiliate thee whenever I'm not here, and at the same time, that thou didst not humiliate thyself so much whenever I am. –sighed Sauron, a bit disturbed by so many signs of unconditional love.- Now tell me, dost thou know who were the intruders, couldst thou see them?

The man nodded.

-One of them was a really beautiful maiden, with an exceptional singing. At first she was disguised as a vampire.

-She must have been Lúthien.

-Yes, I believe that was her name. The other was like a huge wolf, and hid beneath the throne.

-Could it be Huan, the wolfhound of the Valar?

-Hmmm... It didn't look as a dog to me, but rather as one of those werewolves. He had blue fur.

-Draugluin then. Or rather, someone disguised with Draugluin's skin. Probably Beren... -murmured the lieutenant to himself.- How did they manage to put Melkor to sleep, with some kind of spell or magic cloak?

-I don't know. I remember the maiden began to sing and dance, and I couldn't stop staring at her for a moment. Then I fell asleep, and I suppose that the same happened with the lord Melkor.

Sauron stood thoughtful and tried to tie up the loose ends.  
Judging by the looks of it, Beren and Lúthien had infiltrated Angband only to steal one of the Silmarils.  
But why just one? Was that a kind of challenge, of joke, of promise? Was that the secret plan that Finrod wouldn't talk about? Possibly it was.  
But as a plan, it was quite simplistic and not very logical. The Silmarils had no strategic value, they weren't going to help the kingdoms of the Elves to win any battle by themselves. Also, the Dark Lord had been at their mercy and they had done nothing with him, other than taking the jewel. Why?  
The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to the lieutenant that the theft had nothing to do with the war, but was rather a private matter. Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée, nothing more. No, rather, Beren wanted to give a jewel to his fiancée's _father_, to win her hand in return.  
And if this was so, they could have gone to no other place but the court of Thingol.

-Stand up from there and get ready! –ordered Sauron, grabbing his servant by the arm and lifting him.- We're going to go in search for the stolen Silmaril. Because I guess that thou wilt not want to be left alone in Angband with Melkor in this state of mind, right?

The man shook his head vigourously, and then shot off towards the toilets.

After a short while, Sauron had gathered a large contingent of Orcs at the gates of the fortress, and dividing them into groups of scouts, sent them to inspect in all directions in a radius as large as possible.  
Of course, Gothmog didn't want to stay on the edge and joined the search for the Silmaril as well. Convinced that the thieves had fled towards the Blue Mountains, he marched eastward with his Balrogs, and Sauron was glad to lose sight of him, sure that he wouldn't find anything in those places.  
He and his Shadow would follow their own path.

Before leaving on the horses, the lieutenant inspected in detail the entrance of the fortress.  
There was blood on the ground, human blood. Carcharoth must have attacked Beren when he fled with the Silmaril, and thereafter, doing honour to the trust that Melkor placed on him, he must have pursued the intruders.  
But how could he not reach them, if the beast was much faster than them?  
A few eagle feathers, half buried in the dust, gave him a rough idea of what might have happened: the wolf had wounded Beren and just then the eagles, always watchful, had flown to his aid, and had transported the thieves through the air to a safe place. Carcharoth, using his refined instincts, had chased them from the ground.  
That meant that following the trail of the wolf, they would find the Silmaril.

Thus resolved, Sauron and his servant galloped and searched for many days and nights.  
The wolf's trail of destruction was easy to follow, but strangely erratic. Sometimes he had retraced his steps, or had walked in circles, or had lost time attacking villages without apparent reason.  
Those who had seen the monster, assured that he was mad and spat foam of blood and fire. The lieutenant ignored those stories, no doubt the exaggerations of ignorant Orcs and trolls, and didn't lose heart on his search.  
There weren't any news from the other patrols, and sometimes he lost patience with his Shadow and his constant need to eat and sleep. At that rate, they would never reach the wolf, who seemed to run abnormally fast, even for their horses.  
Nevertheless, he continued on the trail of Carcharoth, and this ended up leading him, as he suspected, to the borders of Doriath and the girdle of Melian.  
Interestingly, the barrier hadn't been able to stop the wolf, because the path that he had opened with his teeth through the bush was clearly visible.

-Well, here we must separate and thou hast to go on alone. –announced the Maia.- I don't know how Carcharoth has managed to open a gap in the girdle, but the fact is that he has done it, and I sense that it hasn't closed completely yet. Thou mustest cross before it does.

The man blinked in confusion.

-But master, why must I go on my own, why dost thou not accompany me?

-I am a Maia and the right hand of Melkor. My presence in the forest would be too powerful to escape the attention of Melian. She knows me too well, also. It's a long story... However, thou art still a simple man, I think. Insignificant enough to go unnoticed, and even more so with the tumult that Carcharoth must have caused. I guess thou canst safely cross the barrier.

The Shadow of Sauron swallowed at hearing that "guess".

-What should I do if I find the thieves? How will I confront them alone?

The lieutenant realized that his servant was right.  
Beren and Lúthien were powerful, especially if Huan was with them, and perhaps they had already met with the soldiers of Thingol. A man alone had no chance against them.  
As for Carcharoth, one couldn't count on his help, because he could be dead already.  
Sauron thought for a moment, and ended up finding a solution.

-My faithful servant, thou hast been loyal to me all these years. It is high time for thee to get initiated in some of the secrets of sorcery.

-Oh, master, nothing would honour me more than that! -exclaimed the man, and Sauron pulled him towards him. The creature trembled with emotion.

-I'll teach thee a very simple spell. With it thou canst create a cloud of thick smoke for a few seconds, through which only thou wilt see, while the others become blind. Use it when thou findest the thieves and recover the Silmaril among the confusion. But thou hast to be very fast; these spells for beginners fade away quickly. I fear, however, that if Beren and Lúthien have reached Menegroth, everything will be already lost. –thus saying, the Maia grabbed his servant by the wrist and placed his thumb over his blue veins until he felt his rapid pulse.

Then he leaned on his ear, and still pressing the veins of the wrist, started whispering the words of the spell to him. The Shadow shuddered upon feeling his master so close. The touch of the hand was very cold, but inside he was starting to get overheated.  
When the lieutenant let go of him, his head was spinning and he could hardly breathe.  
The man made a test of the spell before going into the woods with his horse. It worked well.  
Thus he separated from his master, who stood there waiting for him, with all the patience that he could summon.

For a couple of days, the Shadow of Sauron rode through the forest completely alone, always behind the trail of Carcharoth and always fearful of the spells of Melian.  
So far nothing seemed to block his way, but he couldn't ensure that the magic of the forest wasn't already working on him imperceptibly, losing him further and further into the thicket or making him retrace his steps.  
Nonetheless, he didn't get lost, and finally he reached the bank of the river Esgalduin.  
There the traces of Carcharoth were more recent, and the man guessed that he was already approaching the wolf, and therefore, the thieves.

Indeed, in the evening of the second day, besides the waterfall of the river, he found the beast.  
Or rather, what was left of it.  
Carcharoth lay on the floor with his neck torn, together with a huge dog that had also died, surely in the midst of a terrible battle with the wolf. The Shadow guessed that the dog must had been that Huan that his master hated so much.  
Standing next to the beasts were two Sindarin warriors, on the ground, a badly wounded man, and leaning over the man, a beautiful Elven king with silvery hair. In his features he discovered some similarities with the fair maiden who had danced before Melkor.  
Unfortunately, Lúthien wasn't there, and his hopes of seeing that face again, if only once more, vanished forever.  
But where was the stolen jewel?  
The Shadow stayed hidden behind some lush bushes, carefully observing the Sindar and waiting for something to happen.  
Then one of the warriors crouched beside the corpse of Carcharoth, and to his astonishment, he began to rip the belly of the monster. Even more astonishing, however, was what was inside: a hand pulled out by the roots, and inside the hand, the glowing, the tempting Silmaril.  
Everything made sense then, from the blood at the gates of Angband, to the erratic wanderings of the wolf and the one-armed man on the ground, who could be none other than Beren.  
The Elven warrior placed the Silmaril in the only good hand of the thief, and he, with strenght that already abandoned him, gave it to the king of the Sindar as he whispered something that the Shadow couldn't hear.  
The king shed tears of regret, but accepted the jewel.  
That was the right time to act.

And the Shadow of Sauron was about to cast the spell and snatch the Silmaril from them, when a sudden thought stopped him.  
He had just realized the power he had at that moment over the fate of the jewel, and therefore, of Melkor, and a deliciously perverse idea crept into his mind.  
Yes, of course, if he recovered the Silmaril he would have the gratitude and praise of his master, and the lieutenant would be happy about the successful accomplishment of the mission. But his happiness would be temporary, and rather for Melkor than for himself. Moreover, both he and his master Sauron would have many more opportunities to prove their worth and feel satisfied.  
On the other hand, if he didn't recover the Silmaril, Melkor would mourn his loss for all eternity.  
He would never again have a chance like that to do so much damage to the hateful Vala that mistreated him, that had disfigured him, that had ordered his lashing, and had made him many other things that he would rather not remember.  
The accursed Morgoth would get what was coming to him once and for all, and would cry every time he saw the empty hole in his crown.  
What better, what sweeter revenge than that?  
The black lips of the man twisted into a smirk; the decision was pretty clear.  
Turning around, he returned to the horse, and went away from the waterfall, as if he had never seen anything.

When he finally came back to his master and told him that he had found Carcharoth dead, but no trace of the Silmaril, the Shadow was afraid that the Maia would read between his lies. Therefore he pulled down his bone helmet as much as he could, and tried to hide his eyes.  
However, the lieutenant believed him. He knew of his unconditional loyalty, and also, it must be said, he shared the same prejudices about men with his lord Melkor, and thus believed him too stupid to deceive.  
The Shadow of Sauron wasn't proud of what he had done, and vowed that this would be the first and last time that he betrayed the trust of his master.  
That way, the iron crown lost one of his Silmarils forever.

Melkor was lying listlessly in bed when his lieutenant came into the bedroom to report the failure of the mission.  
The Vala didn't get angry upon hearing the story, since he had exhausted all his fury in the many damages of the fortress, and only sighed with resignation.  
It wasn't fair.  
The Silmarils were his, they had been created for him. Fëanor may have not been aware of this fact when he made them, but no doubt, he already had understood in the halls of Mandos that such a beautiful objects could only shine upon the greatest of the Valar.  
Besides, no one had suffered for those jewels as much as he, that felt their burn on his hand every day, and their weight on his head at every moment.  
No one had loved those jewels as much as he.  
And yes, it's true that he was the cause of the death of the two Trees, but wasn't the love he felt for their light, locked inside the crystals, enough to compensate for it?  
It wasn't fair that they did this to him now, after what Fingolfin did to him.  
Why couldn't they leave him in peace?

And despite everything, it was all a bit indifferent for Melkor.  
He felt tired, and weak, and weary. Now he just wanted to stay lying in bed and get consumed by the hatred for his enemies.  
Apparently, Sauron had perceived this gloomy mood, and knelt by the bedside to comfort him.  
Before the Vala had time to react, his lieutenant was already kissing his neck and caressing him without permission. Sometimes Melkor thought that everything was easier when the Maia simply reported, made a nod, and turned around.

-My Lord, don't worry any longer for that simple jewel. Thou art never more beautiful than when thou wearst not thy crown, than when thou liest in this same bed without wearing anything at all. Thou dost not need adornments. -whispered the lieutenant softly.

Melkor felt a pang of desire. He would have liked to open his arms to the Maia and let him crawl over him.  
But he was supposed to be angry. Thus he made a grimace of displeasure and turned his back to him.

-Stop taking advantage of me. I don't know if thou art aware of how upset and hurt I'm with thee, Sauron. When thou bringest my Silmaril, I'll let thee caress me with thy hands burned by it, but until then, keep thy lustful intentions away from me.

-Of course, my Lord. -replied the lieutenant, with such a seriousness that no one would have guessed that he was intimating with him.

And he left the chamber with a route march, while Melkor was left lying there, cursing the thieves and his unsatisfied desire.

Sauron kept looking for the Silmaril during a long time, even though he knew that it had disappeared in Menegroth and was unrecoverable.  
Judging by the rumours he heard, not even the sons of Fëanor had managed to retrieve the jewel from Thingol. Gradually, even Melkor began to understand the irreversibility of the situation, and forgot the matter, and the wound healed eventually.

In large part, this drift in his attention was due to the news that started arriving from Ossiriand, where Gothmog and his Balrogs still hoped to find something.  
Everywhere there was talk of the tragic deaths of Beren and Lúthien, though there were those who claimed that, certain nights, and if one payed attention to the secret sounds of the glade, a song of indescribable beauty could be heard among the sighs of the wind. And all that heard it felt their blood freezing, since they had the impression that, somehow, the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead was not completely sealed when that melody sounded.  
However, it wasn't those ghost stories what interested Melkor, but the news about the troops that the sons of Fëanor had gathered to march against Angband.  
To the so-called Union of Maedhros had joined even the dwarves from the Blue Mountains, that reclusive people that usually stayed apart from all matters of Beleriand. In addition, along with the threat from the East, came also a threat from the West, from Hithlum, where the heir of Fingolfin had established an alliance with the men of Dor-lómin and the forest of Brethil.  
It seemed that all the enemies of Melkor in Middle Earth had united at last to declare war on him, in the greatest battle that ever devastated the northern lands.  
And it was precisely this fact, this imminent danger, what finally pulled the Vala out of his apathy and gave him back all his vigour.  
The theft of the Silmaril was nothing but a dark episode of the past. Now he had to deal with more pressing matters.

In the summer morning when all the enemy troops marched in formation to the fortress, Melkor was in an exceptional mood.  
The previous night the stars of Valacirca had barely shone, which was a good sign, and the Vala felt with enough energy to organize the troops himself.  
That morning, not even the most frenzied activity could have exhausted him or reminded him of the pain in his leg.  
When Sauron entered the throne room, Melkor was giving some last minute instructions to a contingent of Balrogs. The lieutenant coughed discreetly to catch his attention, and the face of the Vala lit up upon seeing him there.

-Ah, Sauron, Sauron, my faithful lieutenant! Is it everything arranged for the battle?

-Everything is arranged, my Lord.

-What about the men from the East?

-Bought off to betray Maedhros.

-And what about Húrin and Huor?

-Ready to be captured and betray the hidden realm of Turgon.

Melkor smiled, and gestured for the Balrogs to go away. Then he approached the lieutenant and stood very close to him, with a flaming gaze.

-What would we do without the betrayal of men, eh, Sauron? One doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse... -he said, extending his hand. The lieutenant knelt and kissed it; the blood of the Vala throbbed due to the thrill of battle. Then he felt Melkor's fingers stroking his hair, and an arm urging him to stand up.- I sense, Sauron, that this is the beginning of a golden age for thee and me.

And thus saying, the Vala encircled the neck of his lieutenant and pressed the lips against his, while the three peaks of Thangorodrim exploded in a cloud of toxic smoke, accepting the challenge.

* * *

**And that's all for Lúthien wreaking havoc around her. Next chapter will feature a bit of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and**** a very surly and tough-headed Húrin.  
In the meanwhile I'd like to hear some opinions, suggestions, anything... Lurkers, don't be shy. Reviews make a writer's day and they just take a minute :)**


	3. The Old Man at the Top of the Mountain

**The Old Man at the Top of the Mountain**

_`Is it dauntless Húrin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth,  
`stout steel-handed, who stands before me,  
a captive living as a coward might be?'  
_  
-The Lay of the Children of Húrin: Prologue.

Across the charred plain of Anfauglith, the wind carried the sound of the Elven war trumpets. And yet, nothing moved on the horizon.  
On his iron throne, and dressed again in his armour, Melkor grinned. So far everything was going as planned: Maedhros was withheld because of the poisoned counsels of his Easterlings, and Fingon wouldn't attack until his cousin gave signs of being alive. Now it was his turn to pull that vermin out of his hiding.  
The first patrol of scouts that he had sent, returned then with the report of Fingon's forces. In the list of soldiers, one of them caught the attention of Melkor in particular: an Elf from Nargothrond, the only captain arrived from that kingdom, who went by the name of Gwindor. The crows claimed that this Elf had vowed to free his brother, one Gelmir, who was imprisoned in Angband since the end of the siege.

-It won't be necessary that he comes here to free him. I myself will give him to his beloved brother, I'll put him under his very nose. Although I don't know if he will like what he will see. -said Melkor, thoughtfully.

And with a snap of his fingers, he ordered his servants to bring him the aforementioned Gelmir.

The Elf was unrecognizable, and his eyes had been gouged out long time ago. At this point, turning him into one of his Orcs would have improved considerably his appearance.

-Show him to his brother. So he can see with his own eyes the torments of Angband that this wretch can't see anymore. Provoke him in any way that ye can think of, enrage him: him, Fingon and all his troops. I want them to attack as soon as possible and get out of the mountains, in the open field, where we can crush them better. Go now! -ordered the Vala.

The captain of the Orcs nodded, grabbed the poor Elf with brutality and took him out of the room, almost dragging him.  
Melkor leant back on his throne with self-satisfaction. Nothing could go wrong that glorious day, he sensed it.  
Down, in the underground furnaces, his lieutenant was taking care that the battalions of Orcs were well equipped and went out in ordered formations to the battle.  
Shortly thereafter, winged messengers began to bring him the first news about the onslaught of the Elves. Indeed, the sight of his brother had stirred up the spirit of Gwindor, and even more so when they had cut off the hands, feet and head of the unhappy before his astonished eyes. Fingon hadn't been able to hold back his soldiers, and they had rushed into battle recklessly, without waiting for reinforcements.  
Melkor laughed to himself. Inferior creatures were always equally predictable in their emotions. No wonder, since they had been created without any imagination, by an arrogant and narrow-minded Eru.  
The Vala saw no need to send more soldiers than the ones he had already sent.  
Although later he regretted this.

The hooves of the enemies' horses echoed through the deserted plain, and now the trumpets of the Noldor sounded much closer.  
Suspiciously closer.  
A tremor shook the gates of Angband and there was a loud racket on the upper floors. Could it be possible that the Elves, in a desperate suicide attack, had broken into the fortress ? Melkor scratched the scar of his cheek in disbelief. It wasn't possible, but...  
There was another tremor over his head, and now for real, the unmistakable sound of metal clashing with each other, of war cries, and of flesh ripping with a damp and dull noise.  
The Vala clenched his fist around the handle of his mace Grond, that lay beside his throne. Well, those foolish Elves may have entered Angband for a moment, but that would only mean their greatest undoing. He, meanwhile, would await them sitting quietly on his throne, and if one of them dared to get there, he would send him to Mandos with a single blow of his mace.  
A huge jolt shook the vaults, as if a giant iron object, perhaps a battering ram, had fallen to the floor above. A few small debris fell off the roof to his feet. The shouts of the Elves echoed almost next-door now, and seemed to descend to the throne room.  
Melkor reflected for a couple of seconds, and decided that it would be a good idea going down to the underground furnaces to supervise his lieutenant. That was his task, after all: lead the operations. Not staying there to fight the pathetic Noldor. That was the function of Orcs. And besides, he had to make sure that everything was going as planned. It was the most prudent thing, and prudence is not cowardice, of course...

When the Vala went down the spiral staircase as fast as his wounds allowed him, he came upon Sauron, that run up almost at the same speed. There was a clash between the two, and the lieutenant rolled down the stairs.

-My Lord, what is that turmoil up there? –asked the Maia, rubbing his aching head, and not hoping that Melkor showed concern for the harm he had caused.

-Mmmm... I think it's the Elves. They have entered Angband.

Sauron 's eyes opened wide.

-But what the... ? How is... ? How is it that they have come here!? The troops we sent were more than enough to contain them!

Melkor shrugged.

-I don't know, Sauron. Perhaps what we did to the brother of that Gwindor irritated them more than what was necessary. Things don't need to turn out always as planned. But that doesn't mean they will necessarily turn out bad.

A thunderous roar boomed through the upper gallery, and the noise of the skirmish went silent for a moment. Several thuds, like the footsteps of a giant, threatened to demolish the roof, and it could be heard some columns collapsing.

-Is Glaurung loose around the fortress? –asked Sauron, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

-Of course! Why would I want a dragon if I couldn't use him in my battles?

-I understand, my liege, but maybe let him run through the galleries is not the most appropr...

It wasn't worth continuing, because Melkor had already turned around and headed upstairs to see what had happened. The lieutenant shrugged and followed his lord.

The destruction caused by Glaurung was considerable, and several rooms had been ravaged by fire. However, the counter-attack had been effective, and the intruders had fled in disarray, pursued by hordes of Orcs that run after them without much order.  
A captain of the guard dragged the instigator of the uproar: the Elf Gwindor of Nargothrond, a creature with black and wiry hair, rather small, but quite quarrelsome. The Vala told the captain to bring the prisoner to the dungeons, and then made a gesture for his lieutenant to accompany him to the upper towers. From there they had a privileged view of the battlefield and all that happened. The tide of Orcs had devastated the ranks of the Noldor, and in the distance, the standard of Fingon waved farther and farther.  
Melkor sighed with satisfaction, but upon looking askance at his lieutenant, he discovered a shade of disapproval on his face.

-What is it, Sauron ? It looks as if thou didst not cheer up because of our victory.

-It's not that, my Lord. Of course I 'm glad. What happens is that I think the counter-attack was made in a too chaotic way. There, for example, the Elves have left a flank exposed. If our troops had been divided, they could have enclosed them with a pincer movement and...

Melkor interrupted him raising his hand, and shook his head condescendingly.

-Sauron, sometimes being in control doesn't mean having all under control. There are invisible forces in this world, underground currents of power. If thou wouldst stop analyzing everything for a second, perhaps thou wouldst perceive them as well. Perhaps thou wouldst even dominate them in part some day, as I do. Look there. -and the Vala pointed to the black mass of the Angband soldiers, flowing among the silver armour of the Noldor, sometimes pushing them and sometimes retreating.- Does it seem a chaotic movement for thee? What thou callest "chaos" is nothing but an order difficult to understand. Right now our troops are being directed by the same inertia that directs the lava of a volcano, always downhill, stopping at nothing. Do not worry, this is a won war. I know it, I can feel it in my blood. From now onwards fate will be on my side, because it's inevitable. And my fate is having Arda in the palm of my hand. Thou wilt see.

After that Melkor fell silent, absorbed in the battle, and Sauron didn't know what to say.

During the following days the lieutenant witnessed, indeed, the uncontested victory of Angband over the kingdoms of Elves and men. Everything seemed orchestrated as a perfect, though incomprehensible dance. And the Maia wondered how it was possible that his lord Melkor directed the war in such a disastrous way sometimes, as during the siege of Angband, and other times however, he did it so subtly.  
Maybe his problem was trying to explain to himself the nature of the Vala. Maybe his nature was precisely that: being inexplicable.

Only in the morning of the sixth day, things seemed to go awry. As emerging out of nowhere, Turgon's army came to the aid of his battered brother. And Maedhros appeared in the rear as well.  
Melkor became visibly upset when he saw the king of that phantom city that didn't show on any map. Turgon was a shadow that had plagued him for centuries. Even in Valinor, his direct gaze had disgusted him.  
Driven by rage, he ordered all the creatures of Angband going to meet the hateful enemy, and a black cloud eclipsed the sun for a moment: Orcs, Balrogs, dragons, vampires, werewolves, wraiths, and creatures of nightmare that hadn't abandoned the underground pits for millennia. They advanced towards the Noldor, fused into a single amorphous body full of extremities.  
Only the lieutenant stayed beside the Vala, in the towers, and the fortress had sunk into a strange silence.

-My Lord, shouldn't I go out too? The dragons' squadron needs a more capable leadership than that of the Orcs. –said Sauron, somewhat impatient.

But Melkor shook his head.

-Right now thy place is here with me. For once in thy life, Sauron, relax and do nothing. Everything will be fine.

On the horizon, once again, the tiny figures engaged in confusing hand to hand combats, and in all those collisions, in all those comings and goings, the black tide of Angband kept gaining ground.  
First the Easterlings who had joined forces with Maedhros, betrayed him and his brothers, and fled at the gallop after attacking them from behind. The sons of Fëanor suddenly found themselves helpless, with their troops decimated, and they dispersed as miserable vagabonds; kings without kingdom or vassals.  
Later the dragons charged at the dwarves and Glaurung killed their king. After which, the petty creatures withdrew, not caring anymore for the fate of Beleriand.  
And finally, Gothmog and his company of Balrogs headed west, to crush the last forces of Fingon, and if possible, to capture his evasive brother.  
Sauron bit his lip in frustration, seeing how his rival was about to get all the glory for himself, and insisted one more time that Melkor let him go into battle. But the Vala held him back again, with an enigmatic smile. His black eyes betrayed an iron will, stronger than any that the Maia could remember, and he knew instantly that resisting would be useless.  
In the evening of the sixth day, the glorious battle, the one that would be later known as that of the "Unnumbered Tears", came to an end. In the plain of Anfauglith ensued absolute silence, and a a mound was erected with the bodies of Elves and men, as a mocking reminder of who was the victor.

That night, in the spacious halls of Angband, even the last of the Orcs celebrated the triumph in the midst of revelry and festivity. The most valuable prisoners were taken to their cells, and the least important served as meal in a sumptuous feast, or as intimate entertainment for the troops. From the cellars were brought numerous barrels of wine and beer, and everybody drank and ate without measure, toasting on behalf of his lord Melkor. He sat on his throne to preside over the celebrations, laughing exultant with each bravado of his soldiers. And each one of his laughters was accompanied by an explosion of Thangorodrim, that tinted the sky with orange and scarlet, so all the enemies could see that in Angband the joy was as great as deep was their sorrow.  
Only the black figure of the lieutenant stayed a little apart and indifferent to the general excitement. Sitting to the right of the Vala, Sauron limited himself to taking small sips of wine and smiling slightly every time an Orc fell to the floor drunk. Meanwhile, his eye of fire swept the room without losing detail, waiting for a particular person.  
Finally, he made an appearance. Gothmog and his Balrogs, which had been delayed in the West, broke into the room by opening the doors wide and roared victorious. The soldiers opened a corridor to let them pass, and the newcomers moved towards the throne among acclamations and praise.

-I bring thee two gifts, my Lord. –announced Gothmog, bowing to him.- One is this.

And the Balrog threw down a head with long black braids, which rolled to the feet of the Vala, leaving behind a trail of blood on the stone slabs.  
It was the head of Fingon.  
Melkor licked his lips, with the same satisfaction with which a maiden would receive a bouquet of flowers from a suitor.

-The other gift is this. -continued Gothmog, and among the huge bodies of his guard, he brought forward a sturdy man of sullen appearance. He was still young, and his disheveled hair and beard, and his fierce gaze, gave him a look of bear quite fearsome.

-Is this... ?

-Yes, my Lord, he's Húrin. The man that thou seekedst.

-Oh! -Melkor couldn't help a sigh of joy escaping from his lips.

Now that the sons of Fëanor had lost everything, and the kingdom of Hithlum had been given to the Easterlings, only the accursed Turgon was left to torment him. Anyway, thanks to that man he was a little closer to discover once and for all that elusive realm. The Vala could barely contain his excitement, and poured another glass of wine to calm down.

-Take him to the dungeons, to an isolation cell. Make sure that he lacks nothing.

The man just let out a guttural growl as they drove him to his new home. He didn't seem very eloquent, indeed, and Sauron guessed right away that he would be a tough nut to crack during interrogation.  
Meanwhile, Gothmog kept looking at him askance, waiting for the right moment to rub his triumph over his face. However, the Balrog must have been in a too good mood, or maybe the glass eye showed a colder than usual gleam, because in the end he chose to not say anything and have the party in peace.  
The lieutenant forgot about him for the moment, and glanced at his human servant. He had managed to stay for the entire battle in a comfortable supply position in the rear, and during the feast had drunk until vomiting. Now he was getting affectionate, and groped a prisoner Noldo and a man, that didn't seem very participative. After a while he left the hall toward his chamber, arm in arm with a pair of Orcs no less intoxicated than he.  
Melkor also rose from his throne, and with a discreet gesture of the head told his lieutenant to follow him. Both entered the bedroom of the Vala, and Sauron closed the door behind him.

-Thou lookest very distant tonight. Is there something wrong? –asked Melkor, with half a smirk.

The Maia looked down, a little dejected.

-My Lord, I'm really glad of thy overwhelming victory over thy enemies. The war couldn't have been more favourable than this. But I can't help feeling... dissatisfied.

-How is it dissatisfied?

-I don't know how to explain it... I haven't participated in this battle, the most important one that we have fought so far. I haven't been useful to thee, and that mortifies me. Why didst thou not let me fight?

Melkor laughed softly at the hurt tone of the Maia.

-But Sauron, I already know that thou always servest me well in war. What I wanted to know, was if thou wouldst be as loyal not doing anything. If thou wouldst be able to swallow thy pride and stay under my shadow while others get all the glory.

- Thou art very cruel.

-Of course I am. But not with thee. I have many pawns in this game, and I will sacrifice them all before the end comes, if necessary. But thou, Sauron, thou art not a pawn. Thou art my queen. Thee I will reserve until the last day, and thou wilt be the last to fall.

The lieutenant frowned in annoyance.

-I don't know if I should take it as a compliment that thou considerst me thy "queen".

Melkor let out a good-humoured laughter.

-Stop complaining, thou foolish Maia! And come here. -saying this, Melkor undid the clasp that his robe had over the shoulder, and the fabric fell to his ankles.

Under the light of the candles his white skin acquired a golden glow, crossed here and there with the crimson lines of the scars.  
Sauron followed with his eyes the pattern laid on the body of his master by the sword of Fingolfin. A line run down his left shoulder. Another wider and deeper groove went across his chest and passed within inches of one of the nipples. The third scar snaked along his hip bone. Another one had left a small but deep mark in the right thigh, followed further down by a narrow scar on the knee. The sixth wound climbed up the other leg, from the calf to the groin. The seventh, finally, began under his navel, descended through his abdomen, and ended sinking into the dark hair of his pubis, among which the pale line still showed occasionally.  
Sauron thought that no path ever traced was worth being followed, more than the one traced by the sword in that last scar. And maybe the wounds caused pain to the Vala, but he couldn't pity him at the time. He could only desire him.

Sauron pounced on his lord, and both rolled on the bed in a confusion of members and tongues, while the lieutenant's clothes were also torn from his body one by one.  
Melkor writhed in pleasure. Every caress and every kiss seemed to have intensified a thousand times, not sure if because of the wine, or of the prolonged loneliness, or even because of his ripped skin.  
Only when he tried to open himself to receive the Maia, he realized that something was wrong. A sharp pain went through his groin, and with a moan of obvious suffering, he closed his legs again. The Vala understood then that from that moment on, pleasure should always be inextricably linked to some pain. In due time, this would help him to be more patient, and even to understand better the duality that everything encloses in its nature. But in that occasion he felt awful.  
Sauron had to try different positions until finding one in which Melkor was comfortable, and even then he was forced to proceed with much more delicacy than usual. The lieutenant would have liked to make love to his lord in a brutal way, but unfortunately, that was over. The new pleasure that they discovered, however, was less exciting and violent, but also more subtle and deeper. In a way, more satisfying.

Upon finishing, the lieutenant put his arms around the ribs of the Vala, that still moved up and down at high speed, and pressed his face against his throat.

-My Lord, could I ask thee a question?

-Mmmm... -murmured the Vala. Sauron took this as a yes.

-Why hast thou never tried to penetrate me?

Melkor separated a little and looked at him surprised, as if he had said the greatest nonsense in the world.

-But Sauron, I am the master! It's supposed that thou art the one that desires me. Not that I'm the one that desires thee.

The Maia chuckled against the skin of his lord.

-I don't quite understand thy logic, really. But think that in this way it would be less painful for thee to make love. Also, my Lord, why limit thyself like that? The feminine sex may be doomed to eternal passivity, and only can get to know half of the pleasure. But thou needst not to resign.

Melkor narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

-I see what thou intendest, Sauron. Thou art jealous of me, and cravest what I have. Very sly. But whatever, if thou wantest it so much, I'll take thee later. Tomorrow. Although I doubt that thou hast that secret spot that I have there...

The Vala yawned and intertwined with his lieutenant to sleep.  
Sauron wasn't much hopeful: for Melkor, "tomorrow" usually meant "never".

Effectively, the next morning the Vala's lust had been quenched for the moment, and the first thing he thought about upon awakening, was the interesting prisoner that he had in the isolation cell.

Húrin was dozing on a rough chair, with his hands tied behind his back, and the mats of fair hair that fell over his face completely concealed his visage. An Orc threw a bucket of water to wake him. He opened his eyes, confused, and saw a tall and dark figure in front of him, blocking the light that poured from the open door of the cell.  
The Orc went out to leave his master alone with the man.

-Húrin Thalion, at last we meet. I suppose that thou wilt have heard many things about me.

-None of them good. -replied the man with grimness.

Melkor smiled, and began to walk around him, to observe him better.

-I, however, have heard great things about thee. The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin, the greatest warrior of the Edain, able to face alone entire hordes of Orcs with his axe. Thou killedst seventy trolls, isn't it?

-I've killed so many trolls, that I no longer keep track.

-And I've also heard that thou art a good friend of Turgon... - the Vala was now behind the man and put his hands on his shoulders. Húrin felt a small shiver when the mouth of his enemy approached his ear to whisper:- In my army is a place for anyone who desires it, and especially for the brave warriors like thee. Thou art not the first man that Melkor, the Mighty Arising, offers the privilege of serving him. Nor wilt thou be the last. I can turn thee into one of my main captains, at the height of my Maiar only. Why settle for a pathetic kingdom between the mountains, when all Beleriand could tremble under thy axe and thy countless troops? And I only ask thee one thing in return, that thou tellst me a little secret...

Húrin squirmed uneasy, and tried in vain to untie the ropes of his wrists. The breath and touch of the Vala's hands had begun to produce a glacial cold that run down his arms and chest.  
Then, the prisoner realized that there was a third person in the cell, leaning against the wall of a darkened corner. He was fiddling with something metallic in his hands, and occasionally, a glassy gleam appeared where his eyes should have been.

-I have no secret to tell thee. -snapped the man, once recovered from the shock.- The secrets of Turgon, he should tell thee in person. If he wants.

Melkor rose and stood before him. The brightness of the Silmarils so close to his face, forced Húrin to squint.

-Perhaps I haven't made the right offer. Perhaps it's not soldiers and glory what thou wantest. Maybe it's something much more mundane. Jewels and riches, are not they? Men adore them almost as much as dwarves. I can give them all to thee. -and with a wave of the hand, the Vala made appear before the eyes of Húrin a ghostly vision of a necklace full of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Then the vision vanished, and in its place appeared the image of a beautiful woman.- Or is this what thou wantest?

Húrin spat on the ground. Melkor's smile faded from his face at once, and then rose over the man as an ominous tower.

-I have offered thee power, wealth and women. The three things that men desire the most. The next thing I'm going to offer thee is more pain than thou canst imagine. Unless thou improvest thy attitude and tellst me at last everything thou knowest about Turgon's kingdom. What dost thou say to that? –the voice of the Vala boomed in the cell with the power of thunder, but Húrin looked up quietly and replied:

-No.

Melkor's eyes blazed with flames of anger.

-Then suffer, Húrin Thalion! But don't bear a grudge. It wasn't me who wanted it this way. -and turning toward the figure in the shadows, he made a signal:- Take care of this foolish worm! Maybe after softening him a little, he will be more eloquent.

And the Vala left the cell, slamming the door. The steps of some boots echoed in the bare stone, and the lieutenant of Angband came to light in front of Húrin.  
A sadistic smile hinted at the corners of his pale lips.

-Thou and I, my friend, are going to have a great time. -he said with a soft voice, and tensed the iron scourge with which he had been playing until then.

The cries of the man reached the ears of Melkor despite the thick cell walls, but they were only that: cries of pain. Not a single word escaped his lips.  
So passed one week. At the end of it, the lieutenant came to his lord with clear frustration on his face.

-Nothing?

-Nothing, my Lord. He's the most stubborn and obstinate piece of flesh I've ever seen.

-Thou art not being tough enough with him then.

-My Lord, I've reached with him the level five of the interrogation. NOBODY endures to level five.

Melkor nodded, thoughtfully. And a dark thought shone in his mind at that instant.

-That man, sooner or later, one way or another, will end up revealing me the location of the kingdom of Turgon. That's for sure. But perhaps we should wait a little longer and let time wreak its havoc on the mortal. For now, I've come up with a way to make the wait more enjoyable.

The Vala headed to the cell of Húrin with sudden energy, followed a few steps behind by his distraught lieutenant.  
The prisoner had a terrible aspect, but not even so had disappeared the fierceness of his blue eyes.

-Húrin Thalion. Thou hast despised the signs of my generosity and hast foolishly endured the signs of my hate. Now, because of thy folly, not only thou wilt suffer, but also thy whole family. Thou hast already lost thy brother and I assure thee, Húrin, that thou wilt still lose a lot more, before death has mercy on thee and brings thee to thy loved ones. -sentenced Melkor.

Then the Vala drew a dagger from the belt of his robe, and unleashing one of the man's hands, he made a deep cut on the palm. Thereafter, he made a cut on his own hand as well, and joining it with that of the prisoner he let the blood of both wounds mix together.  
Húrin hissed in anguish; Melkor's blood burned him like acid, and even gave off abrasive vapours. Among the tears that began to accumulate in his eye, he saw a demonic gaze, and the words that the Vala pronounced then oppressed his heart as an ice claw:

-Thy blood is mine now, and with it the fate of thy family. My blood is thine now, and with it a terrible curse has entered thee. Accursed be thee and all thy lineage!

Melkor separated his hand, and Húrin saw stunned how the wound closed by itself, seared by intangible forces. The cell had plunged into unnatural darkness, and even the lieutenant shuddered a little due to the sudden cold of the room. Then the Vala touched the man's eyes with fingers still stained with black blood and sentenced:

-Thy eyes are left open from now onwards. That everything I see, thou wilt see as well. -then he put his hands on either side of the prisoner's head.- Thy ears are left open from now onwards. Everything I hear, thou wilt hear as well. -finally, Melkor covered the mouth of Húrin with his left hand.- Thy mouth instead is left sealed. Thou shalt ask for help, and no one will answer to thy call in the desert.

The Vala stepped back and contemplated his work. The man seemed confused and miserable, but determination hadn't waned the least in him.  
Melkor felt annoyed, and untying him, he lifted him from the chair roughly and dragged him to the upper floors, followed closely by a fascinated Sauron. That was one of those times when the power of Melkor emanated from his body with special intensity, one of those times when the fate of Arda intertwined with the fate of the Vala inevitably. And on those occasions the lieutenant could not help feeling a sort of magnetic attraction to his lord, mixed with fear, respect and lust.  
Melkor brought Húrin to a steep cliff on the side of Thangorodrim, and there, raising his arm, made a stone chair emerge from the hard rock. He seated the man on it with a shove. And though he tried to get up, his wrists and ankles were tied to the seat with the invisible bonds of sorcery.

-Don't let them say of me that I'm a bad host. Since thou wilt spend much time in Angband, my dear Húrin, at least thou canst do it comfortably seated and under the stars. -said the Vala with a laughter, and returned to the fortress with his lieutenant still stuck behind.

Húrin was left completely alone on the summit of the mountain, and glanced at the black and lifeless plains that surrounded him. In all this time, not a single word had escaped his lips.

The years that followed were very sweet for the hosts of Angband and their lord. With all their enemies sunk in misery, they had nothing else to do but enjoy the good times, thrive and multiply all over Beleriand. It was true that Turgon had not been discovered, and that Doriath and Nargothrond still resisted. But at the moment none of these kingdoms meant an immediate threat. Thus, while the Noldor took up arms again, Melkor found an endless source of entertainment in the misadventures of the son of Húrin.  
With his own eyes he contemplated the childhood years spent by the young Túrin in the court of Thingol, and his fall from grace due to a stupid dispute. The Vala took delight in the forced exile of the man, and how he transformed slowly into an outlaw, into a wild animal outside civilization. Of course, this was only funny because he knew that his father could see it as well.  
The curse that the Vala had introduced in his blood, allowed him to have some control over the events surrounding the young man, but he couldn't control the impulses of his heart. Also, Melkor and Húrin had an exact knowledge of the state of mind of the subject, of his pain and loneliness, but the place and the exact circumstances in which was Túrin, were not always visible. If anything, this served to further unsettle his downcast father.

For his part, Sauron missed the heat of battle, and often provoked Gothmog for no good reason, just to start a fight. Deep inside, the Balrog was grateful for these impertinences and any excuse was good to catch his fire whip. Both were warriors and captains, and times of peace depressed them.  
Regarding his most private affairs, the lieutenant couldn't complain too much, because in all that time he had no major argument with his lord. However, he sometimes found the Vala puzzling and annoying.  
On occasions, Melkor wanted nothing from him and ignored any advance made by the Maia. But other times he seemed to ignite with a violent lust (usually when the lieutenant was busier) and forced him to satisfy him at every hour, or for entire days. To the extent that Sauron couldn't perform his daily tasks. Also, he had to endure later the knowing looks and chuckles of the Orcs, whenever they saw him return with a clear flush on his face. On those occasions, getting angry and lashing them only served to increase the teasing.  
At the end, Sauron started thinking that Melkor did all this on purpose, out of pure sadism. In the same way that he seemed to enjoy immensely if he climaxed several times in a row, and his lieutenant on the other hand didn't do it a single time. At this, the Maia could do nothing but shrug and fill with patience. It was so typical of Melkor to take something beautiful and innocent, like the physical act of love, and turn it into a weapon. That was his nature, after all.

Nonetheless, the lieutenant soon didn't have to worry about the exhausting desires of his lord, for he plunged into one of his long periods of apathy. Sauron guessed it had something to do with that puppet of his, that Túrin. The Vala regretted the decision he had made of capturing the outlaw and dragging him to Angband, since he feared that this would end his fun.

-I should have put to other use that filthy dwarf that lived with the outlaws. Instead of convincing him to betray his partners, I should have asked him to take them to Nargothrond. That disgusting creature has been in that realm, I know it from the conversations he had with Túrin. And if my human plaything had arrived there, my eyes would have arrived there too in the end. And another realm of the Noldor would have fallen! Now I've lost sight of that stupid dwarf. Such a wasted opportunity! -complained the Vala, sprawled on the throne in a foul mood, before the patient look of his lieutenant.- All this is thy fault, Sauron!

The Maia opened his eyes, disguising his resignation with surprise.

- Mine, my Lord?

-Yes, thine, for not having foreseen this and not having advised me!

-Thou art right, my Lord. Let me advise thee now then. If I remember correctly, we have in Angband a special prisoner: a certain Gwindor of Nargothrond. Maybe it's time to, I don't know, put another pawn in game. I'm not sure if thou understandest... -Melkor replied to the half smile of Sauron with a malicious sparking of his eyes.  
He had understood everything perfectly.

A little later that day, the supervisors who flogged the slaves in the underground mines stopped their whips, shocked, when they saw their lord visiting the galleries. Melkor never went down there due to the dirt, dust and stench of sweat and blood. But this time he strolled along the mines calm and smiling, despite how uncomfortable for him was limping through that stony ground. With a gesture he told the slavemasters to continue with their work, and he approached the Elf Gwindor. He was as filthy and emaciated as the others, and his courageous spirit had faded away long time ago through blows of whips and picks. Now the single noteworthy thing of his cadaverous face were the two big gray eyes that watched here and there all the time, always fearful. The Vala asked the supervisor of the Elf to let them alone for a moment, and ordered the Noldo to leave his pick and hammer and follow him.

-Ah Gwindor ,Gwindor! Thee I was looking for. Let's take a walk through this charming place, wilt thou not? I have to talk with thee about a certain subject...

The Elf shook with shyness, and tried to stay behind, but the fingers of Melkor rested on his shoulder and pushed him gently, but inexorably, against him.

-What dost thou want to talk about? I have nothing to say, I'm just a brutalized slave. I don't know anything anymore.

Melkor chuckled.

-No my dear Gwindor, thou dost not have to tell me anything. It's me who is going to speak. In fact, I'm going to suggest thee one thing: to stop working in the mines.

Gwindor felt his stomach clenching upon hearing this. To stop working in the mines could only mean that he was no longer needed in Angband. In the early days he had been tortured to reveal the location of Nargothrond, but never confessed. And at that point no one believed anymore that he could endure another interrogation. Nor was it possible that they wanted him as bedroom toy for some captain; only the beautiful and freshly caught Elves were intended for that purpose, not the slaves already used by hundreds of Orcs. Thus, all that remained was that they turned him into food for wolves and dragons.  
Understanding this, Gwindor began to sob quietly.

-But Gwindor! Why art thou crying? -asked Melkor with false compassion, standing in front of him.

-I... I... Lord Melkor, I no longer expect anything from life. But still... I find very painful the idea of dying.

-Dying!? Who said thou art going to die? I'm going to set thee free.

The Noldo looked up with watery and perplexed eyes, not believing what he had just heard. If Morgoth the Black Enemy set prisoners free without further ado, then he must have been dreaming.

-Yes, let me explain. -continued Melkor, leading him to a gallery apart from the rest, where no one was working.- I'll let thee free to go back home in Nargothrond, dear Gwindor. But on one condition: that thou takest with thee this unfortunate man.

Then Melkor showed him a vision of Túrin chained by a patrol of Orcs, who pushed and dragged him on the ground with cruelty. The Elf frowned skeptically.

-Dost thou want that I free a man whom thy own Orcs have captured and that I bring him to Nargothrond, to safety?

-Exactly.

-I'm sorry to say this, Lord Melkor, but it sounds as a trap. How do I know that this man is not evil? How can I trust thee?

-Thou canst not, Gwindor. Thou wilt have to accept that uncertainty if thou wantest me to release thee. It's not to thy trust in me to what I appeal, but to thy selfishness. No doubt thou hast left many loved things in Nargothrond, and thou wantest to recover them, dost thou not? Family, friends, a maiden... –upon saying the latter, the Elf's eyes suddenly lit up, and Melkor could read his mind without difficulty.- That is, a maiden, isn't it? She is what thou desirest the most, right, Gwindor?

The Vala extended the palm of his hand, and over it materialized the image of the Elven maiden that he had seen in the thoughts of Gwindor. She span around, dancing in circles, while her golden hair flew behind her like a long veil. And every time her eyes met those of the prisoner, she gave him a sweet smile full of promises of love.

-Finduilas... - murmured the Elf, as if hypnotized. Melkor dissolved the vision and snapped him out of his stupor.

-So that's her name: Finduilas. She's a charming creature, Gwindor, and she certainly loves thee. Only a stupid would prefer to stay here, picking rocks until his hands bleed, and suffering the lustful gropes of Orcs, when he could be under a willow tree, at the bank of a pristine brook with such a beauty. But thou art not a stupid, right, Gwindor?

At that moment, a terrible struggle unfolded in the heart of the Elf. A struggle between common sense and desire. It was true that the Vala must be up to something sinister, but on the other hand, he wasn't asking him anything evil in itself. He didn't ask him to betray his king, or to kill someone. He only asked him to help a poor man, a poor man of honest and courageous look. And hadn't he suffered enough already? Didn't he deserve it, he and his beloved Finduilas? He was tired. Determination is for the young, not for the unfortunate and weak slaves.

-How can I release that man? -said at last the Noldo. A wide smile graced the lips of Melkor, and he tapped him on the shoulder affectionately.

-Don't worry, my dear Gwindor. Just wait for the patrol of Orcs in Taur-nu-Fuin. That man has a faithful friend, a great archer, that no doubt will be searching for him and will help thee. And if he doesn't, it doesn't matter either because I'll take care. I don't mind losing a few Orcs, I have lots of them. Thou wilt escape tonight without anyone knowing. I don't want to spread the word about our secret deal. One never knows where there might be spies, isn't it, Gwindor ?

-And how can I flee?

-Well, let's say that in Angband, sometimes mysterious galleries open... -the Vala put his hand on a wall, and when he removed it, the solid rock had become a tunnel.-...And then they close again. -when the Elf looked again at the wall, there was no sign of any opening, as if all had been a mirage.

Thus closed the strange agreement, Gwindor got ready to return to his work. Before he disappeared through one of the galleries, the Vala gave him a final warning:

-Ah, Gwindor! Do not think for a moment that thou canst cheat me. If thou dost not fulfill thy part, I'll cast on thee the Spell of Bottomless Dread. Sure thou hast heard stories about it from the other slaves, hast thou not?

The Elf nodded, with a shiver, and ran back to his pick and hammer.

Indeed, Gwindor accomplished his task and helped Túrin to Nargothrond. The fact that during the rescue, the man killed his friend because of a foolish misunderstanding, was a delightful addition to the drama that Melkor weaved around his fate. And even more fun was the irony that the beautiful Finduilas, the main reason why the Noldo agreed to bring Túrin along, ended up falling in love with this man precisely.  
Meanwhile, the first vague notions about the location of Nargothrond started reaching the mind of Melkor. The spies were each day closer to find the guarded kingdom. And finally, when Túrin was proclaimed captain among the Noldor, and casting aside all caution, openly challenged Angband under a new name, Nargothrond was doomed.

The time to take action had come, and in that time Glaurung was, as usual, in the lower caverns near the furnaces. An Orc who had managed to elude his responsibilities and break into the beer cellar, was getting drunk at his side, keeping him company, or rather, annoying him.

-Hey, Glaurung, listen. I have a question that keeps me awake. It's very important, and I think that only thou canst help me. -hiccuped the Orc between drinks.- What smells worse: the gas of a troll with intestinal problems, or thy breath?

The Orc broke into coarse laughters, as the dragon snorted in disgust.

-Why don't we check it, wilt thou? -growled the beast, throwing a cloud of smoke and sulfur in his face.

The Orc choked among coughs and curses, and the Shadow of Sauron, that up until then had been dozing against the belly of the dragon and wrapped in his tail, squirmed.

-Shut up, stupid, both of ye smell worse than anything that came out of a troll! -he complained.

Glaurung turned with a mischievous glint in his eyes to the little creature, who was still trying to get some sleep.

-Oh, forgive us! Not all of us have a master who gives us perfumes to smell nice, and precious jewels to be pretty. By the way... thou shouldest share some with thy friends and not be so selfish. -and saying this, the dragon curled the tip of his tail around the ankle of the man and put him upside down, shaking him in the air to make a few gems and rings fall.

-Let go of me, damn thee! Those things are mine! Ye two will pay for it when this is over, ye will be spitting teeth for a month! -shrieked the man, without enough hands to keep his helmet in place, hold his jewels and avoid the robe going up to his head, all at the same time.

The Orc was writhing on the floor with laughter, still hiccupping, and meanwhile Glaurung collected some of the gems to observe them with greedy fascination.

-What 's all this racket!? Stop acting like idiots right now! -roared a familiar voice.

The three froze on the spot, and Glaurung released his victim, who fell to the ground with a thud.  
The lieutenant was standing at the entrance of the cavern, with his arms crossed and a very unfriendly face. His eye of fire fell first on the Orc, who tried to hide the stolen beer.

-Why art thou here lazing around, instead of in thy post, forging swords!? A new battle is approaching I don't want to see anyone idle! -the crack of the black whip on his backside, soon convinced the Orc to go back to work and stop drinking.- As for thee, Glaurung, let alone those jewels that don't belong to thee, and prepare for war. In Nargothrond thou wilt find many more treasures than those. I guarantee thee.

With the arrival of autumn, the forests near the Narog had been coated with the ocher and red of dry leaves. However, when the assault and plunder of the kingdom ended, there were only black and twisted trunks, and a thick layer of ash choking the earth.  
It had all happened very suddenly, and the Elves hadn't even time to destroy the bridge that, with so much folly, they had built over the river. It was an easy victory.  
And it was also then when Sauron learned that the king of Nargothrond, in the absence of Finrod, was none other than his old acquaintance Orodreth.

"More affectionate than his brother, no doubt, but with a rather empty head." -said the lieutenant to himself with a sneer.

Anyway, it din't matter anymore, because he was dead now. And Gwindor was dead. And the beautiful Finduilas was on her way to death. As for Túrin, he was lost under the inclement weather, searching for his mother and sister in all the wrong places.  
There was just one problem: Glaurung refused to return. The desire for wealth had put ahead of his loyalty for Melkor, and he lay on a huge pile of treasure deep in the caves of Nargothrond.  
Melkor became furious as he considered, rightly, that those jewels should belong to him. He sent many messengers, demanding of Glaurung that he surrendered the treasures and returned immediately. But the dragon killed them all and kept challenging the wrath of the Vala.  
Then Sauron calmed his lord, and advised him to wait a little longer, since perhaps the role of Glaurung hadn't finished yet in that story.

So passed winter, and spring arrived in a state of false calm that, just as the eye of the storm, only heralded new misfortunes for the enemies of Angband.  
One day in which Sauron was heading to one of the upper towers, he discovered Melkor doing something unusual. He was sitting in front of a square board, and on it he had placed several wooden figures. One of them, similar to an archer, was tossed aside as if he had died. There was also a dragon that looked like Glaurung. And in the center, alone, there was a man with a strange helmet and a black sword. The Vala looked at the board with a frown, as if he was concentrating deeply.

-What dost thou do, my Lord?

Melkor looked up, a bit startled.

-Ah, it's thee, Sauron! I don't like this tower, one never hears anyone approaching. Regarding this board, I'm playing a game with a certain man. Thou already knowest who. -and he refocused his attention on the figures.

The more distant was the Vala, the more attractive his lieutenant found him, and standing in front of him, watched him a while with fascination.

-Couldst thou explain what happens now in the game, my Lord? Unlike thee, I'm not acquainted with the whole story.

-This is what happens: Túrin is living with the men of Brethil, under a new name. That individual changes his name more often than an Orc changes his clothes. He thinks that this way he will escape his fate... Well, on the other hand, here I have his sister, whom Túrin never got to know. -the Vala placed another wooden figure in the center; this with the shape of a maiden.- The very stupid went near Glaurung's lair, and now lives without memory or past, wandering through the woods like a wild animal due to the spell of the dragon. But I don't know what to do next, Sauron. I don't know how to torment that man still further.

-Hmm... How about this, my Lord ? -and with a expression of malice, the lieutenant pushed the figure of Túrin against that of his sister, and it looked as if both were kissing.

Melkor rolled his eyes.

-Don't be foolish, Sauron! Thou knowest very well that neither Elves nor men join their blood relatives. They have absurd laws about it, not as we the Ainur. Thus, that will never happen.

-But my Lord, didst thou not just say that they never met and the girl doesn't remember anything? If they don't recognize their faces, and she doesn't remember her name or that of her brother...

Melkor opened his mouth to reply, but in the end he said nothing, and looked at his lieutenant in surprise. The fang of the Maia showed in a perverse and crooked smile.

-Sauron, thou art a very, very twisted being. -he said, licking his lips.

The lieutenant recognized the signal at once: that flame dancing in the black iris of his lord, that slight blush on his cheeks, that wave of heat emitted by his body.  
Without saying a word, he jumped on the Vala, and right there on the floor they locked in a passionate struggle, with little regard for the wounds left by Fingolfin. To the extent that, at some point, Melkor struck his head against one of the legs of the table and all the figures of the board moved. Sauron wanted his lord to fulfill the promise he made after the battle of Unnumbered Tears, and managed to move beneath and offer himself in a vulnerable position. But the Vala didn't get the innuendo, or didn't want to, and instead he sat on him.  
When the last throes of pleasure died in the throat of both, Melkor looked toward the entrance of the tower, and made a gesture at his lieutenant.

-Look who's there. Dost thou want to join us or what? -he laughed, addressing the Shadow of Sauron, who was standing in the doorway and watched the scene with eyes wide open and great trepidation on his face.

The lieutenant turned around, still trembling and panting, and frowned when he saw his servant.

-May I know what art thou doing there like stunned!? And how long hast thou been watching us without saying anything?

The man became so nervous, that he almost threw the bowls of food he carried in his hands, and was barely able to form a whole sentence:

-I... I... master... I... I was bringing Húrin his daily ration. This... this is the shortest way up to Thangorodrim.

It was true that the human had been entrusted with the task of feeding the prisoner, but still Sauron was upset. Unlike Melkor, that found the situation quite funny.

-Get out now, wilt thou?! -growled the lieutenant, and the man run off as if his life was at stake.

The Vala stood up then, got dressed again, and glanced at the board, where all the pieces had fallen in disorder.

-Look what thou hast done, Sauron! -he protested, as he put the figures into place.

At that moment he realized that the figure of Túrin and Glaurung had fallen very close to each other, as if they had died in combat. An idea began to take shape in the mind of Melkor, although he didn't say anything about it yet.

Meanwhile, the human servant of Sauron kept climbing the painful steps that led to the top of Thangorodrim, prey to a confused state of mind. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had just seen, and this caused him an itch between his legs, and deep anger, and melancholy as well. Every time he felt worse, and when he reached the chair of Húrin, his mood was gloomy to say the least.  
In addition, that prisoner had always made him shudder. His stare was lost in the void, as if he fixed his attention on things that happened many miles away, and never said a word. He was no longer a young man, and his long and tangled hair, and his unkept beard, had turned gray over the years. However, he didn't seem to have lost his former vigour yet, so the Shadow was afraid of him and tried not to get too close when he brought his food. He always imagined what would happen if, suddenly, the spell that kept Húrin tied up would get undone, and he attacked him. Surely he could strangle him in a moment. Because of this aversion, and the prisoner's silence, the man never tried to talk with him.  
But on that occasion, he needed someone to vent his rage.

-Look at thee! Húrin Thalion, the brave warrior, is nothing more than a useless old man now. –he mocked him, trying to hide his fear with a dismissive gesture.- The life of men is so ephemeral! Dost thou think not? -the prisoner nodded, very slowly. One could say that he had turned into stone as his chair.

-Yes. All men die. In the end.

-I won't. I won't die, because the power of Melkor keeps me immutable. How old wouldst thou say I am? -Húrin shrugged, and the Shadow made a flourish of conceit- I'm 460 years old, and look at my skin: not a single wrinkle.

-Well, in my opinion, thou art quite ugly.

The Shadow gritted his teeth, annoyed.

-Fool! Mock if thou wantest. But when thou art just a corpse rotting underground, we'll see which one of the two looks better. And to think that thou hadst the opportunity to serve the Lord Melkor with all honours and thou turnedst it down...! Now thou couldst have all kinds of wealth, the respect of the troops and the eternal youth. Now thou couldst be like me.

-A slave?

The Shadow felt hurt. This man irritated him greatly, and even more so because of his laconic answers.

-I'd rather be a slave covered with jewels, than a free man covered with rags! -he shouted, turning away.

-Yes. That's how thy lord Melkor likes to see his men.

-Don't be mistaken. Melkor is not my true lord. –replied the Shadow, facing him again. - My only master is Sauron the Maia, and though I have to keep up appearances in front of Melkor, in my heart I'm only loyal to him. Someday, my master Sauron will be the greatest, the sole lord of Middle Earth. He will be more powerful than that crippled Vala. And who dost thou think will be by his side then? I! I will be his lieutenant, as he is now for Melkor. And I'll never leave him. And my master will need me and love me as Melkor needs him and loves him now. -upon saying these last words, a lump made in his throat.

Húrin smiled enigmatically, and in that moment, he spoke more than he had spoken in all those years in Thangorodrim.

-Poor mortal doomed to not die! Thy four centuries of life haven't given thee any wisdom. Dost thou still think that the heart of a god will love thee back someday? Look, my body may be aged and my end may be near. My family may be cursed and fated to suffering and annihilation. I may not be more than an old fool who knows nothing. But one thing I know: despite everything, I've had more love and happiness in my short life, than thou in all that eternity. It's not me who should envy thy luck. It's thee who envies mine.

The Shadow of Sauron was left petrified then, as if a violent blow to his head had clouded his understanding. He opened his mouth, but his voice failed him. And felt how wrath and pain invaded his body, made him tremble, dried his lips and watered his eyes.  
In a fit of rage, he threw the bowls of food and water to the face of the prisoner, and their contents spilled on the floor, but Húrin didn't flinch.

-Repulsive old man! How darest thou!? For thy insolence, today thou wilt have neither food nor drink!

And with that said, the Shadow turned around and started descending the slope towards the fortress, not daring to look back.

During the next two years, the lonely man on the mountain had to see stoically the incestuous union of his two children. And though he knew that their intentions were pure, he didn't suffer less because of that.  
Melkor couldn't have a better time. The Orcs that he had sent to the border of Doriath, pushed the innocent Nienor directly into the arms of his brother. Now he just had to think of a shocking way to reveal the truth before they both died.  
In the meantime, Glaurung showed no signs of returning to Angband.  
Melkor kept sending messengers: crows, Orcs, Balrogs, even Gothmog, insisting that he gave up the treasure. But the dragon seemed to have gone deaf.  
Finally, in early summer, the Vala met with his lieutenant alone and gave him a last message for Glaurung, an ultimatum, which he himself should communicate. Sauron was disturbed upon hearing it, but he accomplished his task with the same diligence as always and flew to Nargothrond.

What once must had been a glorious kingdom, now looked like a ruined graveyard. Neither trees nor beasts lived in the withered surroundings. And from the deep cavern, earlier a palace, emanated the toxic fumes of the dragon.  
Thus the lieutenant found the beast: sleeping soundly on a huge pile of gold, gems, necklaces and coins.

-Glaurung! -he called, in an authoritative tone.

An enormous snake eye opened and glowed in the dark.

-Oh, but isn't it the lord lieutenant? I see that Melkor has already spent all his other messengers. Next time, I guess he will come himself.

-There won't be a next time, Glaurung! This is thy last chance to reform and return to Angband. It's not pleasant for me to tell thee what I've been ordered to tell thee, because I have appreciation for thee and because, in part, thou art also my creation. But if thou dost not reconsider and surrender to the wishes of Melkor, a very black and very short fate awaits thee. Thou art one of his creatures, and as such, he still has control over thee and can lead thee to ruin if he wants. Make a choice then, either thou goest back to the fortress of thy own will, or thou runst directly to thy destruction according to Melkor's plan.

The dragon snorted, and stretched lazily on the pile of treasure, turning his back to Sauron. His loins gave off iridescent twinkles because of the many jewels embedded between his scales.

-I won't move from here. I like these jewels, and I like that they're only mine. All ye want is to take away what I conquered alone with my strength. Thou hast not been generous to me, lieutenant. Why didst thou never give me rubies or emeralds? Thou givest everything to that sweet-talking worm that follows thee everywhere! Nothing for Glaurung! No, I'm staying here.

-Wilt thou defy thy father and Lord?

-I'm not afraid of Melkor, he can't force me to go away. I'm the master of my fate!

Sauron shook his head, downhearted, when he heard those words.

-That's what said that man, the son of Húrin... Well, ye two will share the same fate then. Farewell, Glaurung. We won't see each other anymore.

The dragon wagged his tail, as if urging him to leave, and the lieutenant disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke.

From that moment on, events escalated.  
Glaurung attacked the forest of Brethil, driven by a desire that wasn't really his, even when he thought it was. And he died among the rocks of the river, but not before making sure that his venomous words dragged with him both Túrin and his sister.  
Sauron regretted deeply the incident, and all of a sudden felt an uncomfortable emptiness inside of him. He had the strange impression that this departure was the beginning of a series of losses that he hadn't yet guessed.  
Although he wasn't the only one who felt more sadness than joy because of the events.  
At the moment in which Túrin expired, closing once and for all that drama, a cry of torn pain echoed between the high peaks of Thangorodrim.  
Melkor opened his eyes, alert, and listened carefully to that cry of a father who had lost everything.

- Now. Now he has broken at last. Now he will tell us all he knows. -he said, with a mysterious smile.

The lieutenant supposed that thereafter they'd lead the old man to a cell, and proceed to interrogate him once again. But once again, Melkor's plans proved too whimsical for his reasoning.  
And the Vala freed the man.  
The first time he had crossed the gates of Angband, he was a hefty warrior of unshakeable bravery. The second time he did it, it was as a withered being with dull eyes, in which there was no longer any trace of his old strenght.  
Sauron cursed inwardly the absurd caprices of his lord, believing that now, the opportunity to discover Turgon was gone for real. And he was about to enter the throne room to openly criticize the decision, when the Vala himself called him.  
He was imbued with an unusual energy, and just as the lieutenant arrived, he grabbed his arm and placed his fingers on the Maia's eyelids.

-Look at this. -he whispered.

And Sauron saw then through the eyes of Melkor.  
The old man, in his wanderings, had reached the Encircling Mountains and called out Turgon, asking for hospitality. But as the Vala had sentenced him, no one heard him in the desert.  
Melkor withdrew his hand and the vision dissolved.

-I told thee that he would show us the way now, Sauron. But thou didst not believe me, right? There's a lot of loyalty in thee, but very little faith. -and although the voice of the Vala sounded gentle and condescending, Sauron felt guilty.

The entertainment of Melkor was already about to end.  
And after a brief visit to Nargothrond, where Húrin caught a valuable necklace, and another equally brief visit to Doriath, where he left the jewel, the man died overwhelmed by the weight of too many misfortunes.  
Melkor lay down the last figure on the board, and yawned:

"Well, and now what could I do?"

* * *

**What could Melkor do? We'll see, in next chapter comes the fall of Doriath and Gondolin, that I finally decided to leave outside of this one. So he's going to have a lot to do. Also, the War of Wrath. Expect thus a lot of departures and a sad chapter. Sorry!  
In the meantime, I'd love to hear from you, guests or non-guests alike :)**

Note: The "Spell of Bottomless Dread" is taken from the Book of Lost Tales. It was the curse that Melkor casted on his slaves to control them. Apparently, it disappeared in later versions.


End file.
